Tearing Up the Script
by Mix Golden Phoenix
Summary: Sequel to The Horn's Grace. Thanks to the small bond between him and Gabriel, Sam has to get used to the idea of having psychic powers again. Dean has to fight against the Mark's influence, as Cas tries to lead an angel army while his Grace diminishes. Gabriel seems remarkably unhelpful. Yet, Sam's sure the Archangel's working on a plan. Either way: Metatron has to be stopped.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: As stated in the summary, this is a sequel to my fic _The Horn's Grace_. As I told a few reviewers, I had plans of just uploading this when it was completely finished, but... As the first chapter is 10.5k words, and I've merely scratched the surface with the story, I feel I'd better update as I finish a chapter. Y'know, to avoid people forgetting the first installment. And, if you haven't, ya might wanna read the that. Or not. Yolo, right?**

* * *

Sam shook his head, scoffing as he looked over at Gabriel.

The Archangel had been pacing the entire time he'd given Sam a little rundown on what had happened to him after they'd left him to his fate with Lucifer.

He _had_ died, he'd said. Sam got the feeling he'd known that he would. That his plan hadn't been to take out his older brother, but to simply buy time to get them away.

It was a depressing thought. Sam knew how it felt going on a suicide mission. It sucked. Even knowing he was doing the right thing...it still sucked.

And, then, Gabriel wasn't dead. Just _zwoop_ and he was back in Elysian Fields. Naturally, Gabriel'd been a little creeped out. Confused. He was pretty sure that angels didn't have the Winchester odds when it came to escaping Death.

No one was pulling for him. Not the Host. Certainly not his brothers.

...Except that someone _had_. Just this once. And Gabriel knew who it'd been. Dear ol' Pops.

Gabriel had done nothing but laugh at the thought. Millenia of silence and then the deadbeat shows up to give him a pat on the back for _killing himself_? Grade A parenting there. But, he wasn't going to look the gift horse in the mouth. Wherever that horse was. No, he was getting the hell out of Dodge before _someone_ decided that an Archangel needed to get his ass back to Heaven.

So, he got his ass back to Heaven, anyway. Figured he'd do it so he wouldn't have to be dragged. Probably violently dragged, given his history. Angels loved giving spankings before letting people go about their business. No exceptions.

No, thank you.

He and Lucifer had been a bit mischievous 'growing up.' They'd gone places they shouldn't have. And they'd been smart enough to keep their mouth shut about said places. If God knew what was up, He certainly hadn't said anything about it.

It was one of these places that Gabriel had set up shop. Dug in his heels, made a comfy little nest, and was fully intent on just sitting there until the fallout of Michael and Lucifer's failures faded away.

Why, oh why, did he ever think it would be that easy?

No, things didn't get better. They got worse. Thanks to Raphael and God's new favorite. Little Castiel. A seraph now! Like that was any boost in power compared to an Archangel. Raphael could have swatted Cas like a bug and never blinked. Not like he hadn't done it before.

Yeah, Gabriel was around while the civil war raged on. And he'd shoved his head in the sand. Again. Because he knew his presence would tip the scale. He knew angels would flock to him for guidance or support.

He wasn't a leader. He couldn't make them fight each other. And he sure as hell wasn't going to get on Raphael's bad side. Lucifer'd taken him out once, and they'd been close. Raphael? Not so much. That determined stick-in-the-mud would have no problem sticking _him_.

No, thank you.

And then _Godstiel_ had happened. Boy, what a mess that'd been. The death toll was one thing, but after? The survivors rallying together and all, scrounging for a place at the top of the food chain? It'd been chaos. Chaos in Heaven, of all places. Hilarious.

Gabriel's head stayed in the sand. He was no hero. No knight in shining armor.

Maybe the angels would sort themselves out. Or wipe each other out.

Faction leaders amassed soldiers. Sheep. Sometimes they'd fight. Other times, they'd just...separate. Like tribes. It was kind of funny to think about.

The angels had _almost_ gotten to a settled point. ...and then there was Metatron. Oh, yes, Gabriel had heard when the Scribe had been found. The news had traveled across Angel Radio at the speed of light.

Gabriel wasn't fond of Metatron, either. There was something _off_ about him that had always rubbed the Archangel the wrong way. And after the shit that went down with Eden? Well.

Then, all the angels Fell. Like Humpty Dumpty. And _douchebag_ found his way to the metaphorical Throne. Gabriel knew the implications, so he'd hid.

Yes, again.

What could he say? He was good at it.

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could but he couldn't.

He could because this was Gabriel. He _knew_ the Archangel was good at running - at squirreling his way out of his responsibilities and even blame. But to hear that that's _all_ he seemed to prefer to do? It was mind blowing.

"So, you just...ran and hid?" He asked in disbelief. "While all this shit was going down and you could have done something to stop it?"

Gabriel snorted, "Oh, please, Sam. You know I'm not the bleeding heart type."

The Archangel looked briefly at the crumpled up papers on the floor. Papers Castiel had torn down to draw the angel siren. Papers that held the faces and names of Gadreel's victims...or his newest allies.

Sam studied said look. Yeah, sure. Not the bleeding heart type.

"Right," he began sarcastically, "because that's why you punish assholes and put yourself in harm's way to help save the world."

Gabriel smirked, cutting his eyes to Sam. He didn't respond to the jab, however. Simply ignored it as he began to pace again. Sam got the feeling Gabriel was anxious. He probably wanted to leave. _Run. _Sam frowned.

"Were you injured like the others?" He asked.

"Yup. Extra crispy wings and everything. You saw them, remember?" Gabriel asked, knowing the answer.

"So," Sam drawled. "You're stuck with us, aren't you?"

At that, Gabriel took a deep breath and spun on his heel to face Sam. His face gave it away. Yes, he was stuck with them. No, he wasn't pleased at the idea.

Sam tried not to be annoyed at the lack of enthusiasm. At least he understood it. They _had _kind of ruined Gabriel's life a few times. ...Not that he hadn't gotten them back for it, but still.

"Metatron's going to be after my ass," Gabriel explained. "Especially now that he can't use me like a puppet anymore. Guess I have to genuinely thank you for that one."

"You're welcome."

Gabriel smiled briefly. Mockingly. He probably didn't want to be in their debt.

"And I am _so_ not sticking with Castiel," he mumbled.

Sam frowned, "Why not?"

"Didja miss all the times I tried to keep my nose out of Heaven's business?"

"Seriously?" Sam questioned blankly.

Gabriel threw up his hands, "Hey! What can I say? I like saving my own ass."

"Ever thought about saving someone else's ass?"

The Archangel stared at him for a few seconds, unblinking.

"Right. Last time you did it, you got stabbed. Ever thought that maybe that was a one-time fluke? I mean, Metatron's not Lucifer."

"No. He's, apparently, _God._" Gabriel quipped, glancing at the door. "I'd rather not take my chances again, _thanks_."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. Yeah, Gabriel was most definitely not like his Grace. He'd known that, of course, but experiencing the difference was jarring. The old annoyance at the Trickster was worming its way back into his feelings towards the other. Only, now, it was combined with the..._want_ he'd had towards the Grace. Yipee.

"When's your brother coming back?" Gabriel complained.

"You could just go ask him to hurry it up. He's probably still in the parking lot."

"Hellooo." Gabriel made a sort of wax-on, wax-off motion with his hands. "Warded. Outside? Not so much."

"Wow."

"Judge me all you want, Sam, but I know what'll happen to me if Metatron gets his hands on me again," Gabriel spoke, serious for a change.

The look he gave him quickly made Sam feel like a scolded child. He knew what would happen, too, after all. The Holy Fire. The siphoning of his Grace via that damn siren. Probably something _worse_ if Metatron couldn't find another use for him. Stuff Sam didn't want to think about because it was kind of terrifying to. And if _Sam_ was scared of what would happen if Gabriel was caught again, he had no doubt of the fear the Archangel had. Appropriate fear, at that.

He should probably lay off.

"Sorry," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Gabriel hummed an affirmation, eyes cutting back to the door. He folded his arms across his chest.

Sam thought about texting Dean to get him to come back in. Then he thought about how upset Dean had been not too long ago. How upset Dean might still be. The thought gave him pause.

With the mindset Gabriel was in regarding his personhood, to be turned down by Dean would... Well, it wouldn't end well, he knew that for certain. He couldn't predict _what_ would go down, but there'd be more than just butting heads. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation. Or for Gabriel to be shoehorned off onto Castiel. After all, that put him directly in the path of the angels, some that might not be trustworthy.

Man, he hated sticky situations.

He didn't have to text Dean, though. It was only a minute of awkward silence before Castiel entered the room. Sam could see Dean standing outside before Cas closed the door behind him. He was frowning. That wasn't a good sign.

"Oh, don't tell me," Gabriel grumbled, arms still folded.

"He's not happy," Castiel answered. "For obvious reasons."

"This isn't Gabriel's fault," Sam spoke up, earning a somewhat surprised glance from Gabriel. "I mean, it takes two to tango, right? The Grace didn't force me to do anything. He can't blame - "

"He's not just angry at Gabriel," Cas interrupted.

"Oh." Sam frowned, shrugging once. "Of course he's not. Why wouldn't he be angry at me? I've done something he doesn't agree with. Again. What else is new?"

"Sam."

"Save it, Cas," he bit, perhaps too harshly. "I don't... I don't care, all right? I don't. I'm done caring. All that matters is that we get him," he nodded at Gabriel, "out of here."

Cas frowned regretfully but nodded once. He looked over at the Archangel. Gabriel looked almost bored, but Sam knew that was a façade. He was thinking. Planning, probably. Sam just hoped it was something good that wouldn't land him, or them, in hot water.

"It may be better if you come with me," Cas said gently.

"Not happening."

"We could use you."

"That's exactly why it ain't happenin'."

"Why?" Cas implored. "Why do you refuse to help us?"

Gabriel steeled himself, "I already told you, Castiel. I don't want to lead. That was never meant to be my purpose. Metatron's plan was to have _you_ do it. I was just fodder."

Sam frowned, "Wait, what?"

Cas shifted uncomfortably, gaze glancing from his brother to Sam and back. When Gabriel didn't expound further, clenching his jaw instead in an act of defiance, Castiel sighed and turned to face him.

"Earlier, when I mentioned the story Metatron wanted to tell me? He wants me to lead the angels against him. He... He tried to use Gabriel to convince me to do that."

Cas looked at the Archangel, "I thought you said you were tired of running."

Sam followed his gaze. Gabriel shrugged noncommittally. However, the expression on his face... Tired. Resentful. He _did_ want to stop running. But he wouldn't. Not while he was still in danger. And there was no telling how long he would _stay_ in danger.

No wonder he was so cynical.

"I think you forgot the part where I said I was reading a script."

Sam frowned.

"What do you mean a script?" He asked hesitantly.

At that time, Dean barged into the room, nearly smacking Cas with the door since the angel hadn't thought to take a few more steps into the motel. Cas shuffled forward quickly while Dean threw him an annoyed glare. Dean closed the door behind him and, most likely sensing the atmosphere, decided not to speak. Instead, his eyes scanned expectantly around him.

Gabriel frowned at him, sizing him up a bit - gauging to see what reaction to expect. When Dean did nothing but stare back, Gabriel decided it was okay to reply.

"Just what I said," Gabriel started. "A script. Y'know, like a play? 'All the world's a stage.'"

Castiel tilted his head a little, brows furrowing.

"'And all the men and women merely players,'" he parroted the quote.

Gabriel's eyebrow rose in appreciative surprise.

"Someone's been reading Shakespeare."

Cas fidgeted, "Something like that."

"Okay, I know I just walked in," Dean interrupted, holding a hand up, "but what the fuck are y'all talking about?"

Gabriel smiled pleasantly at Dean. It was kind of creepy.

"Metatron," he answered. "Havin' a bit of story time. Why not pull up a couch, eh, Dean?"

Dean looked suspiciously at the Archangel, eyes narrowed. He turned his head to stare at the couch past the bed. He refaced Gabriel.

"I'd rather stand, thanks."

Gabriel shrugged innocently, "Suit yourself."

"What does Shakespeare have to do with Metatron?" Castiel asked.

"Metatron _is_ Shakespeare. Figuratively, before you say anything, Castiel. He's pulling strings he has no business getting his grubby, little hands on."

"I'm not sure I'm following," Sam said.

"I'm definitely not following," Dean added.

Gabriel threw his head back. When he looked at them again, he was clearly unimpressed.

"I forgot y'all weren't the brightest bulbs in the bunch."

"Gabriel," Sam groaned.

"Look. Metatron's playing God. He's _not_ God, but he's pretty damn close. Because he has the Angel Tablet. I don't know how the hell he got his hands on it. I'm guessing _you,_" Gabriel glanced at Cas, "had something to do with that."

"Actually, it was Gadreel," Dean interjected, quick to defend his friend.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, "Whoever it was, it was a really dumb thing to do. Because Metatron's using it to do what came naturally to God."

"Which is?" Sam prompted.

"Writing."

Dean frowned, "What, like the Bible?"

"Close enough. The Winchester Gospels, to be precise."

The involuntary shudder that went through Sam and Dean was not missed by the angelic company in their midst. Castiel frowned. Gabriel smirked.

"He's influencing your stories. Making things happen against the Will. Except, there is no Will anymore. Not really. Which means: He's making you do things against _your_ wills. Our wills. Anyone and everyone. Most of the stuff I said to Castiel was something he made me say. I had the fortune of knowing I was being used as a puppet... You guys don't."

Sam frowned. His mind was working as hard as it could to try and understand what Gabriel was saying. Metatron was using the Angel Tablet to write...scripts? Scripts that influenced their wills. ...That influenced _them_. Made them do things that... What?

He gave Gabriel a confused, imploring look. The Archangel took one look at it and sighed.

"Fine. I'll use an example: Metatron writes down that I want chocolate cake, so I go eat some chocolate cake. And then it comes true."

"He's controlling us?" Dean questioned.

"In a manner of speaking." Gabriel shrugged, "I'm not entirely sure how it works myself. It's not absolute. Castiel was able to break the script Metatron had written because of a factual error in the little pocket reality I had made."

"Wait, you made that illusion?" Castiel questioned.

"Yup."

"Then... My ripped coat - ?"

"My doing. Like I said: I knew I was being played. He'd had me trapped in damn Holy Fire for weeks. Commanding me to pull the wool over your eyes? Yeah, I wasn't one-hundred percent down with it. I left the loophole on purpose. I'm just glad you caught on."

"Okay, well, how do _we_ know if we're being controlled?" Dean asked, anxiousness lacing his voice.

Gabriel frowned a little.

"You don't."

"Oh, well, that's just _peachy_," Dean snapped.

"It is what it is, Dean," Gabriel replied solemnly. "I don't like it any more than you do. But, as of now, I don't know how we can stop him."

Sam scrubbed his hand over his mouth. And here he'd thought the most terrifying thing Metatron could do was take Gabriel or kill Cas. No, turned out he was some wicked puppet master playing all of them.

At least with the Apocalypse they'd had a choice. Despite what the angels had said regarding their fate, they'd had a choice. They'd broken the script. But Metatron? How the hell could they stop him from writing a destiny for them?

Whatever messed up destiny he wanted them to have.

"We _really_ need to take the Tablet from him," Sam spoke up.

"Good idea!" Gabriel exclaimed cheerfully. "_How?_"

"I don't know, but it's better than nothing!" Sam snapped. "He cast out the angels, made himself God, and now he's, what, taking the angels back? Hoarding them in Heaven while he keeps the Gates closed? Souls still can't get in! And now - now he's writing a future for us? ...Whatever he's planning, he needs to be stopped, because it does _not_ sound good."

"Yeah, I really don't like being jerked around on a leash," Dean added, not doing a good job of hiding his distaste.

"We need to find the Door," Castiel said. "Now more than ever. He's got to have the Tablet close to him. I've been in his office; I know what it looks like. I should be able to find it again once in Heaven."

Gabriel huffed, "Mighty confident there, Cas."

Castiel's jaw tightened as he glared at the Archangel, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"You have a better idea?" He growled.

"Nope," Gabriel replied easily. "I'm just trying to point out that _realism_ is better than _idealism_. I want to stop the little creep just as much as you three bozos do, but we don't have the means. Or the know-how. We need to step back and _think_ before we act. Or do you want another mishap like you boys are prone to have?"

Sam sighed, rubbing his palms on his jeans. This was a mess. Worse than the bond. The hits just would not keep coming, would they? No, of course they wouldn't. Winchester curse, right?

"He's right," he admitted reluctantly. "We're working on fear right now. We need a plan. If we don't have one, we'll probably just fuck it up. Metatron's playing this game with a cool head; we need to have one, too."

"Man, this sucks," Dean growled, crossing his arms. He nodded towards Gabriel as he demanded, "And what the hell are we going to do with him?"

Cas frowned uncomfortably. Sam fidgeted, eyes leaving his brother to find Gabriel's. Gabriel, however, looked entirely too calm for the news that was about to be delivered to one not-so-happy Dean Winchester.

"I," Gabriel began jovially, "Mr. Grumpypants, will be traveling with _you._"

Dean was speechless. Immobile. His face frozen in the perfect picture of 'I can't believe the bullshit that just came out of your mouth.'

"No," Dean stated firmly, raising a finger.

"Mmm, yes."

"_No_," Dean stressed, glaring at the Archangel. "I've already had to put up with your Grace's bullshit, and now I have to deal with a possibly-psychic brother again. I am _not_ putting up with your ass, too. You're going with Cas. End of discussion."

"Since when did you have to _deal_ with me?" Sam demanded.

Dean gave him a look but didn't reply.

That set Sam's blood on fire, the corners of his mouth turning down as his nose flared in barely contained rage. God, he knew Dean hated any form of freakishness that came from him in the past, but... Just. Wow.

Okay, so maybe he'd lied to Cas when he'd said he didn't care what his brother thought. Because, right then? Oh, he cared. He cared a lot.

Unfortunately.

"Dean," Castiel cautioned, turning to face the Hunter completely. "You _need_ to take him with you."

"We've been over this, Cas" Dean almost hissed.

"I know. And I understand you're upset. But I have to meet up with the other angels that came here yesterday to make sure they're doing what was asked of them correctly. We can search for the Door, too. However, if Gabriel comes with me, he risks being found out. Ultimately, that may mean Metatron's wrath. Which, as we now know, can be easily executed. We can't afford to lose him. In the Bunker, he's safe. Metatron's reach does not extend there.

"You know I'm right, Dean."

Dean's jaw worked as he stared at Castiel, his gaze occasionally snapping to Gabriel and back.

As much as it burned_ more_ to admit, Sam knew Castiel was better at dealing with his brother when he was angry than Sam was. Especially recently, since Dean either refused to trust him or was just too _hurt_ to take Sam's opinions into consideration.

It was stupid and Sam hated it. Yet, he'd put up with it. He'd deal, as long as their chance at stopping this mess - as long as Gabriel - didn't get tossed to the curb because of Dean's stubbornness.

"I don't like it," Dean stated, resigned and resentful.

"You don't have to like it, Dean," Gabriel said. "I'm not really kickin' up my heels at the thought, either, in case you couldn't tell. But, like I said: It is what it is. You offer me sanctuary; I offer you whatever strength I got left. Within reason, of course. Unlike certain other angels who shall remain nameless."

Castiel frowned, looking over his shoulder at the Archangel. Sam had a funny feeling he wasn't whom Gabriel was talking about, though. Sam had... Well, he'd been remembering some things about Gadreel. When he'd been possessed. 'What strength I have left, I offer to you.' That's what he had said to Dean, in the beginning.

Sam wondered if Gabriel's Grace had picked up on those thoughts - those memories - too. If the Grace had then informed, or whatever it'd done, Gabriel when it had merged with him. Or, had Sam done it last night? However it had happened, there was a chance Gabriel knew.

Sam didn't know what to think about that. It made him vulnerable, after all, the Archangel knowing something personal like that. The Trickster had been known to use _personal_ against him. Then again, he had hope - probably naïve hope - that Gabriel would take his side of things.

"And how, exactly, can you help us out?" Dean challenged. "Last time you did - "

Gabriel's expression turned dark in less than a second. The small hairs on Sam's arms and the back of his neck rose. Like they were being affected by static.

Oh, please, don't do anything drastic, he thought. Please, don't smite Dean.

"You better not finish that sentence," Gabriel growled. "I _died_ for you, you ungrateful _dick_. I told you the way to stop Lucifer. I played my part."

"Yeah?" Dean snarked. "And then what? How long have you been alive?"

"Please, stop fighting," Castiel pleaded, looking at both.

"I don't owe you _anything_," Gabriel finished.

"Dean," Sam interrupted, trying to head off any further argument. "He helped. He can still help. The longer we stay here, the greater our chances of being caught are. _Please_. Lay it to rest."

Dean threw his hands up. He wasn't going to lay it to rest. But, he also didn't seem to want to pursue the argument with three people telling him off. If there was one thing he was good at, it was knowing how to pick his fights. Even amongst friends. Well, friends and one sorta-ally.

"Fine! Whatever. Me and Sam'll take him with us." Dean stared hard at Gabriel and pointed at him, "You fuck up my car, or you fuck with us, though? And, like I told your Grace: Your ass is grass."

Gabriel rolled his eyes but said nothing. He was itching to, Sam could tell, but he cleverly kept his mouth shut. Dean turned his attention back to Cas.

"And _you_ better hope that we find Metatron, and fast, because I can't guarantee I won't stake his ass just on principle."

"That doesn't work," Gabriel grumbled.

"On. Principle," Dean stressed, not looking away from Castiel.

Cas sighed through his nose, shoulders drooping slightly as he tilted his head. Dean looked around the room at all of them.

"Ride leaves in five," he stated.

Dean left. The room was silent for all of one second before Gabriel mimed strangling something as he whined. Sam faced him. The Archangel stared at him, eyes wide and jaw tense as he pointed angrily towards the door.

"How do you put up with that?" Gabriel demanded harshly.

Sam shrugged helplessly with his hands and shoulders. He let his palms slap against his thighs when he dropped them.

"It's Dean?"

"Yeah," Gabriel agreed, nodding. "That's kinda the problem."

"Gabriel," Castiel cautioned, earning the Archangel's frown. "Please, don't set him off."

"And why shouldn't I, hmm?" Gabriel questioned. "It's not like he's not going to do everything in his power to set _me_ off. What, I should just take and not give? I'm not really the turn-the-other-cheek type, bro."

"Gabriel: Don't."

The Archangel threw up his hands, much like Dean had not a minute earlier. Funny how the two that were constantly butting heads had certain similar characteristics. Like hardheadedness and an indomitable will. Funny how, given the current situation, both traits were faults.

"Fine! Fine. _Saint_ Gabriel it is."

Gabriel cut his eyes to the side. Sam'd seen that look before. He was feeling trapped and he didn't like it. If there was one thing worse than an antagonistic Gabriel, it was a Gabriel who felt backed into a corner. _That_ Gabriel was more unpredictable.

"Look," Sam started. "I know it's frustrating. Believe me, I do. I live with him, after all. But... He's dealing with some things right now, okay? Poking at him will just... It'll be counter-productive. Working with us - with him - may prove to him that you're not some gigantic asshole."

"I _am_ a gigantic asshole," Gabriel stated firmly, looking back to Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes, "I know that. Just. Humor me, alright?"

Gabriel sighed through his nose, biting at the inside of his lip. Soon, he shrugged in defeat.

Castiel turned his attention to Sam.

"I hate to ask it of you, but can you watch after _my_ brother, too?" He asked, only half joking.

Sam smiled a little, "Yeah. I think I can handle it."

Gabriel gave him a look that said he doubted it and that he was going to do everything in his power to make Sam eat his words. Sam still thought he could handle it. If he could deal with a sentient light bulb with an attitude that had broken free, not once but twice, he could probably deal with the Trickster. After all, it was easier to catch something in the shape of a man with no wings.

Castiel nodded and excused himself. Sam's guess was that he was going to do what he'd told Dean: Leave and meet up with the other angels.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if it was a good idea for Cas to do that. Not because he didn't trust him with the responsibility, but because of what they'd said Metatron's goal had been in Gabriel's illusion. If it was Metatron's wish for Cas to lead a faction of angels against him, if that's what he had written, wouldn't it just be playing into his plan to do so? However, it wasn't like they could _not _go against Metatron. He needed to be stopped. Somehow. They'd work on that soon enough.

First thing was first: Getting Gabriel to the Bunker.

"You ready?" Sam asked him.

"How long of a drive am I lookin' at?"

"Uh. Twelve? Maybe thirteen hours?"

"Then my answer is no. Come on."

Gabriel walked towards the motel door as Sam got to his feet. Sam looked around. The markings on the walls and the papers still crumpled on the floor, left discarded as they were no longer useful, would really raise questions with the housekeeping staff later. And probably the police, considering the content of what Castiel had been investigating. Too bad they didn't really have the time to get rid of that.

With a blink, all of it was gone.

Sam jolted in surprise, quickly glancing at Gabriel. The Archangel had a hand on the door handle, staring at Sam expectantly.

"You really sure you should be doing that?" Sam griped, still under the impression Gabriel wasn't as strong as he was letting on.

"Relax, Sam," Gabriel replied, opening the door and stepping out into the parking lot. "I told you I was fine."

"Actually," Sam said, "you said something about me doing more than giving you wings, but that was about it. What did you mean, anyway?"

They made their way towards the Impala. Dean was, naturally, in the driver's seat, engine already running as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. The slight frown on his face only worsened when his eyes landed on Gabriel. If Gabriel saw it, he made no move to show it. Cas' car was missing. He hadn't waited long.

"Well, for one, I didn't literally mean you gave me wings."

"Kinda figured."

"Alright, Einstein. You can figure out the rest, then."

"No, I - _Gabriel_."

"You tampered with my Grace. Gave it a little boost. A _little_ boost, but a boost nonetheless. Add that on top of my body's natural healing and, well... _I'm good._"

It took a moment for Gabriel to open the car door he'd come to, staring down at it as if it'd personally offended him, but he did open it. The latch thumped open and the Archangel got in like he was used to it. Which, considering how long the angels had been on Earth, he probably _was_ used to traveling in cars by now.

Boy, that had to be an odd switch. From teleporting everywhere to having to use human vehicles and walking? Sam hadn't really given it much thought until now. It probably sucked. No wonder Gabriel didn't feel up to the ride. Well, that and Dean.

Sam opened the passenger's side door and was immediately met with Dean's raised hand. He didn't even manage to get a foot in.

"Ah!" Dean said.

He pointed towards the back with his thumb. Gabriel frowned at it.

"You're riding with him," Dean announced.

"What?" Sam asked in disbelief. "Seriously? Dean - "

"Ah-ah-ah! I don't wanna hear it. I already gave this speech to Cas and Crowley once. I don't want him tryin' somethin', so you're gonna make sure he doesn't. In the back, Sammy."

Sam groaned but obeyed, shutting the door with an added touch of annoyance. He didn't bother to wait to see if Gabriel would scoot over for him, he just walked around the car instead and got in on the left side. Gabriel was leaning forward in his seat a little, smirking mischievously at the side of Dean's face. Oh, boy.

"You sure that's a good idea, Dean?" Gabriel nearly purred. "What if I get a little _handsy?_"

Sam scowled at the Archangel while Dean scoffed and put the car in gear.

"Look, I don't care what you two do in your free time. I really don't," Dean stated.

"Don't mind a few stains on the leather then?"

"If you value whatever's between your legs at all, Gabriel, you will keep it in your pants while in my car," Dean replied as they turned onto the main road.

"It's called a penis, Dean. You should know what that is."

Sam held up his hands beside his head.

"O-kay! Can we not with the immature pissing contest, or whatever it is the two of you are doing?" He pointed at Gabriel, "And no touching without permission."

Gabriel looked downright affronted, placing his hand on his chest dramatically, "Sam! I would never!"

Sam merely squinted at him. He knew the Grace had learned to keep his metaphorical hands to himself, but he wasn't too sure about the real Gabriel. In any case, whether Gabriel made an unwanted move or not, Sam could take care of himself. He'd punched Gadreel in the face; he could punch Gabriel just the same.

"Any chance you two happen to hatch a plan after I left?" Dean asked.

Gabriel sat back against the seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he pouted at the window. Yeah, he wasn't going to tell Dean anything. Sam sighed.

"Not really, no," Sam admitted.

Dean hummed an affirmation and then turned on the radio. He made sure to turn it up to a decibel that said talking was prohibited. The corners of Sam's lips twitched downward as he shifted in the backseat.

He really didn't have a lot of leg room in the back. The music was almost grating, which was kinda the point he guessed. Every time he cut his eyes to look over at Gabriel, Gabriel was doing a good impression of a statue.

Only once did Sam catch Gabriel looking somewhere other than the scenery outside the car. And that was when he was looking at the radio, eyes squinted and mouth slightly askew. Sam knew what he was thinking. He swatted his hand at the Archangel, grabbing his attention, and mouthed at him to not do it.

Do not mess with the radio, for the love of Heaven. Dean would _not_ hesitate to leave Gabriel on the side of the road, usefulness be damned.

Gabriel made a face at him, an almost mocking snarl, and then he slid down in the seat, arms still crossed as his knees pressed into the bench seat before them. He looked like an overgrown child. For some very strange reason, it was almost endearing.

Sam mentally smacked himself in the head as he looked back out the window.

The drive was long. When wasn't a drive long when going across the United States? Especially in the West. But the atmosphere of the ride made it worse. Still no talking. Music too loud for Sam to fall asleep. Absolutely nothing else to do.

Roughly four hours in and Sam was losing it. Gabriel had been reduced to fiddling with his zipper on his jacket. Up, down, up, down. Not all the way, of course, just _enough_. Enough to make a racket. And Sam's brain had picked up on it despite the sound of AC/DC blaring from the car's speakers.

Eventually, he snapped, reaching over without looking to grab Gabriel's hands and squeeze. Hard. Enough to get the message across that, if Gabriel continued, there would be no saving him. He held his grip for a moment for added emphasis. Unfortunately, that was just enough time to give Gabriel an idea.

When Sam felt his hand being lifted upwards, he turned to look at the Archangel in confusion. Seeing his tongue sticking out and said hand being brought to it, Sam reacted on instinct. He yelped, jerking his hand away from Gabriel. Only...Gabriel held on. And Sam spent a few panic-stricken seconds trying, and failing, to get his hand away from Gabriel's still-threatening tongue.

"Don't make me come back there!" Dean threatened over the music.

Gabriel finally let go of Sam's hand, sitting back up from where he'd been dragged towards Sam. Sam huffed, wiping the back of his hand on his pants, even though Gabriel hadn't actually made contact with it. He glared at Gabriel. Gabriel didn't look at him, but the falsely innocent look on his face clearly meant he was pleased with himself. Asshole.

"So, Dean. We there yet?" Gabriel asked.

"Don't start, Gabriel."

"I gotta pee."

"You're an angel. You don't have to pee."

"Was hoping you'd forget that part."

"What? You want me to pull over somewhere so you can make a break for it? Fat chance."

"Yeah, like I can outrun Sam's freakishly long legs."

"Then why the hell do you want me to stop?"

"Because I'm bored!" Gabriel shouted. "I'm an Archangel trapped in the backseat of a car. For hours. I'm used to zipping wherever the hell I wanna go. I _need_ entertainment. And, so far, you two - " he gestured with his finger, " - have been _very_ helpful with that."

"Don't like my music?"

"No," Gabriel smiled. "More of an 80's man."

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. Sam raised his eyebrows briefly. That did kind of explain the song choices of the Trickster. His brow furrowed. One particular such song Sam still refused to listen to. He fidgeted.

"I don't know, Dean," he began, still speaking over the music. "I'm kinda hungry."

"Oh, come on, Sammy. Not you, too? I'd like to get _home_."

"We could use a bathroom break and my ass is starting to go numb. I have no room back here. Just pull over at the nearest gas station."

"Ugh. Fine!"

Okay, so he'd lied about his ass being numb, but he was being truthful about the other stuff. He hadn't had anything to eat since before they'd gone after Gadreel and his stomach was really getting onto him about that. His legs were also not so happy about their close quarters. Taking a short walk around the car was better than staying another six or seven hours in the same position with no break at all.

Gabriel wiggled triumphantly in his seat, smug smirk on his face. If Sam had been one-hundred percent truthful, he would have also mentioned that his main motivation had something to do with Gabriel's never-fading energy levels. Sam desperately wanted to give him that 'entertainment' he'd said he'd needed. He wouldn't stand the next set of noises the Archangel came to to occupy his time.

It was roughly twenty minutes, going by the switch in cassette tapes, before Dean pulled off the Interstate. The gas station was right beside the exit. Dean pulled up at a pump, parked, and shut the car off.

Dean turned around in his seat just as Sam's hand made it to his door handle. Sam paused as his brother looked at Gabriel and then him. Gabriel, too, had paused, in much the same position Sam was in.

"Alright, here's how this is gonna work," Dean began. "I'm gonna pump while you take a leak. We'll switch when you get back. _You_," he pointed at Gabriel, "are staying here."

"Oh, come on!" Gabriel exclaimed. "I'm going stir crazy in here!"

"Oh, boohoo," Dean mocked. "You're staying put. Go on, Sam."

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. He looked over his shoulder at Gabriel as Dean exited the vehicle. The dark look Gabriel threw his brother did not bode well.

"Just..." Sam started quietly, gaining the other's attention, "try and not do anything until I get back?"

Gabriel pouted angrily, crossing his arms again as he thumped his back against the seat. When he turned away to glare heatedly at the seat in front of him, Sam got out.

It didn't take long for him to take care of his business. Just long enough for his brain to think of every worst case scenario he could come across when he looked back outside the store. The image of a smoking crater where the Impala had been crossed his mind a time or ten. He'd wanted to stretch his legs a bit, but, well... Imminent destruction of either of the two idiots outside kinda shot that idea down.

When he _did_ get around to leaving the store, nodding politely at the clerk has he did so, he was pleased to find that none of the things he'd thought up had happened. Dean was leaning against the back of the Impala, arms and ankles crossed, as he watched for Sam. The perfect vantage point to make sure Gabriel didn't try and bolt. Not that Sam thought he would, but Dean did.

As soon as they made eye contact, Dean pushed himself off the car and began to walk towards the store. He made sure to tell Sam to _not_ let Gabriel out of his sight or even let him out of the car. Sam merely agreed to avoid an argument. He may have been thinking of letting Gabriel step out of the car anyway. Or, at least open the door for some fresher air. As fresh as air full of cigarette smoke, gas, and oil could be.

Sam ducked into the backseat, not at all happy to be returning there, and slammed the door. He looked over at Gabriel. Gabriel was still pouting. He was a hair's breath away from fuming.

"You can open the door," Sam offered. "Stretch your legs, if you want."

"Pretty sure that's not what your dear ol' brother told you to do," Gabriel grumbled.

"Yeah, well. He's not here."

"Not going to caution me not to run off?"

Sam smirked, "Like you said: You can't outrun my freakishly long legs."

Gabriel huffed but some of the tension seemed to drain out of his body. He didn't open the car door, however. The two sat in silence for a moment. At first, it was comfortable. Until Sam started thinking about it and then it got a little uncomfortable.

"I meant what I said earlier," Gabriel spoke evenly.

Sam frowned in confusion as he looked over at him, "About what?"

"The-the touching thing," he clarified with a shrug. "I mean, I'm an asshole. Don't get me wrong. But..."

Gabriel trailed off, brow furrowing as he stared out the window. Sam watched him for a second, running his words through his head. He knew Gabriel probably _did_ want to explain what came after the 'but'. However, he also knew that emotional vulnerability didn't seem to be something Gabriel liked.

"Alright," Sam replied.

Another beat passed.

"And I meant what I - Well, not _me_, but I agree with what the Grace said, too."

Sam nodded slowly before asking, again, "About what?"

Gabriel drug his gaze from the gas pump outside his window and moved it towards Sam. He didn't completely face him, though. His eyes seemed to zero in on Sam's knee, instead.

"That I..." He hesitated. "That I shouldn't have done what I did. To you. Especially not the way I did it. ...And I'm... Sorry."

For some reason, one he didn't completely understand, Sam started to laugh. It bubbled up from somewhere near his diaphragm, traveled its way up, and came out of him as a helpless giggle. His eyes shut as they began to water and he continued to laugh. He heard Gabriel huff again.

Sam waved a hand towards him to try and indicate that he wasn't laughing at _him. _Though, he supposed, it could be interpreted that way. Maybe he _was_ laughing at Gabriel. But only because of the way he'd gotten the apology out. The way it had sounded. Sincere but also like it had been beaten out of him.

Soon, he got his chuckling under control. He wiped his eyes with the heels of his palm, opened them, and looked over at Gabriel. He snorted at the indignant pout on the other's face. Somehow, he'd reined in the next onslaught of giggles.

"Sorry," Sam murmured. He tried to wipe the smile off his face. "Apology accepted."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at him.

"Was that _really_ so hard that you had to say it to my knee, though?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes and went back to looking out the window. Sam's grin found its way back. Momentarily. Before he realized he wanted to address something a little more serious. Okay, the apology had been serious, too, but that's not what he meant. He frowned a little.

"So, about this bond thing..." He prompted.

"What about it?" Gabriel mumbled towards the window.

"Uh. How's it... How's it going to change...us? Or me?"

Gabriel finally looked at him. He seemed bored.

"Frankly? I don't know."

"Oh. Oh, you don't know? 'Cause earlier you assured me it wasn't going to do anything bad," Sam said, aggravated.

Gabriel sighed, "It's not, Sam. It's not because it can't. Look. You were psychic for a time - "

"Because of Azazel's blood," Sam interrupted forcefully. "Which wasn't a good thing!"

"_No_," Gabriel stressed. His eyes cut to the ceiling as he tilted his head from side to side, "Okay, _yes._ Technically, you were psychic because of Azazel's shenanigans. But the powers you gained from him were your own. You ever wonder why all of his little _special children_ had different tricks up their sleeves?"

Sam frowned. Yeah. Yeah, he had. But, what difference did it make? Gabriel dropped his head for a second and then looked back up at Sam.

"The blood acted as a trigger. Gave your little mortal mind added incentive to do some fancy shit. I mean - I don't know how to shorten this.

"Psychics. Humans with special powers. Some are born with them switched on. Some aren't. But the switch is still there."

"So...Azazel just switched it on?"

"Yup. But there are a looot of switches. Think of it as a switch for every different power. Azazel's blood was a shot in the dark. There was no guaranteeing or predicting which kid got what power. _Or _how good they'd become. Which is why he had his little battle royales that you had the not-so-fortunate chance to take part in."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floorboard. He didn't like remembering that. The people like him all trapped in a ghost town. Killing each other just to survive. ...How he'd been killed because he didn't _want _to kill.

And then Dean...

He cast the thoughts aside and looked back up at Gabriel.

"And this-this bond just, what, did the same thing?" He asked, not sure if he was understanding.

"Eh," Gabriel shrugged a shoulder. "More like it gave the switch the electricity it needed to work the light bulb again."

"So," Sam shifted a little to better face Gabriel, hands raising so he could use them to help illustrate his ideas, "I was psychic, and then Azazel died, and the... electricity went away. But the switch was still in the on position, so all it needed was electricity again to-to do its job, or whatever?"

Gabriel frowned a little, "I hate to bring up a touchy subject, but why do you think Ruby told you you had it in ya the whole time?"

A chill ran down Sam's spine, his eyes widening slightly.

"I don't wanna end up like that. Not again," he said quickly.

"_You won't_," Gabriel stated firmly. He shook his head once, "Not if you don't want to. And there's no pesky addiction to have to deal with when it comes to the bond, either. At least that's a plus, huh?"

"And it'll fade, right? The bond. If we don't do the dream walking thing? And then the powers will just fade away again?" Sam asked shakily.

Gabriel paused before answering, "It should."

The Archangel turned from him and sat back against the seat.

Sam was nervous now. Uncertain. Earlier, Gabriel had said he'd _hoped_ the bond would fade if they left it alone. Now, he was saying it should, but he didn't believe that.

"You hesitated," Sam stated. "You don't know."

Gabriel threw up his hands in helplessness. He looked back over at Sam, actual honesty reflecting in his eyes.

"No, okay? I don't know. Wish I did!

"Don't take this the wrong way, Sam, but I really don't wanna be saddled with you, either. I kinda - I kinda like my privacy, y'know?

"Thousands of years with it? Solitude kinda becomes the norm."

Gabriel looked away again, lips turned down as he did so. There was a sort of...melancholy that could be attributed to the look. An offshoot of the look that Gabriel had given when he'd first told Sam that Sam didn't have to use the bond if he didn't want to.

Sam studied the Archangel. The corner of his lips twitched upwards just for a second.

"You're a really bad liar, y'know that?" Sam asked, almost cheekily.

Gabriel blinked slowly, moving his head to stare blankly at Sam.

Movement in his peripheral caught Sam's attention. He looked away from Gabriel, spotting Dean almost a foot away from the car. In his hands was a bag of stuff. Sam frowned. One of the objects almost looked like a phone book.

The Impala's door opened with a satisfying creak - a sound his brother refused to get rid of with some WD-40 - and Dean half-sat, half-flung himself down into the driver's seat. Both Sam and Gabriel looked at the plastic bag expectantly as Dean started to dig around in it. Sam didn't know why Gabriel was curious, other than he was Gabriel, but _he_ smelled food.

"For someone who complained about being hungry," Dean began, pulling out a foil-wrapped burger that he then handed to Sam, "you sure did a good job of forgetting to get food."

Sam frowned a little as he took the burger.

"Well, I was kinda more worried about leaving you two alone and coming back to a smoldering crater," Sam admitted.

He wasn't too thrilled that his breakfast, lunch, whatever it would be called, was a greasy, slightly gross tasting, double cheeseburger. Yet, he was ninety-percent sure that gas stations really didn't handle salads. He began to unwrap his food as Dean reached into the bag to pull out whatever book thing he'd gotten.

Sam's burger was halfway to his mouth when he looked at the cover of the book. He paused.

It was a coloring book. A very thick coloring book of _My Little Pony_. He slowly lowered his burger and looked cautiously over at Gabriel. Gabriel was simply staring at the book like he wasn't entirely sure why it was being shoved in his direction.

Dean wiggled the book for Gabriel to take. He then reached into the bag, pulled out a small, brand new box of crayons, and plopped them onto of the coloring book.

"Take it," he said easily. "For your 'lack of entertainment.'"

Gabriel looked up from the book to stare at Dean, mouth slightly open in disbelief. He scoffed and shook his head.

"What, you couldn't get me Dora instead?"

"All out," Dean replied, exaggerated smile gracing his lips.

Much to Sam's surprise, Gabriel took the coloring book from Dean. He didn't open it, however, or move the crayon box off it. He just thumped into the seat behind him and grumpily glared out the window. Pleased with himself, Dean turned back to face the front, starting the car and putting it into gear.

Relieved that nothing bad was going to result from Dean's really shitty sense of humor, Sam went back to eating. Dean turned the radio back on. And, though he turned down the volume just a notch, Sam got the feeling that neither his brother nor Gabriel was going to start a conversation anytime soon.

It was roughly an hour before Sam heard the sound of a cardboard box opening. (Long after Sam had finished his meal and crumpled the foil up, placing it in his pocket because - God forbid - he litter in Dean's car.) Covertly glancing over at the Archangel, he watched as Gabriel flipped through the coloring book, box of crayons already opened.

Gabriel stopped on a page of a winged pony. Sam didn't know if that was intentional, an attempt to be funny and ironic, or if Gabriel had just let chance take the wheel. Either way, he reached into the crayon box, pulled out a yellow, and began to color in the horse's mane.

Two hours after that, Gabriel had finished about five pages in the coloring book. Sam was astonished that the act of coloring could actually hold the other's attention for as long as it had. He was surprised that Gabriel had yet to do anything obscene with his artwork. ...And he was slightly annoyed every time he caught himself watching the other as he colored. Any time he did, he'd snap his gaze back out the window. And it somehow found its way back.

Four hours had Gabriel making noises with his mouth. When Sam got onto him for that, he started making noises with his thumb, tapping it against the coloring book. When Sam got onto him for _that,_ not only did he make a point to throw Sam a sour glance, but he started to tap his foot. After that, Sam gave up.

Five hours gave them another break, curtesy of the Impala's fuel tank. Sam pumped the gas this time while Dean went to take care of business. Sam opted against another bathroom break. Instead, he slid back into his seat and addressed Gabriel, who had set his book and crayons aside and slumped down with his knees, once again, against the seat in front of him.

"We should tell Dean," Sam said.

Gabriel blinked languidly, "Is this like charades? Am I supposed to guess what we're tellin' him? Oh, oh! Wait! I got it! Is the answer: He's a jerk?"

Sam stared at him blankly.

Gabriel took one look at the expression and sighed.

"The fancy powers?"

"Yeah."

"I'd rather not, thanks."

"If we keep it a secret - "

Gabriel held up a hand, "Ooh, believe me. I already know all about the Winchesters and their knack for lying to each other's faces. But, Sam, the problem here is that your brother wants to stab me in the face, and I kinda like my face, so telling him something that's gonna set him off is not something I wanna do."

Sam paused, "Really? Because you seemed really eager to get under his skin a few hours ago."

"There's a difference between being a mild annoyance and the guy responsible for," he used air quotes, "'ruining' his brother."

Sam scoffed, looking away. But Gabriel had a point. As Dean had mentioned in the motel room: His brother had to _deal_ with him whenever he acted like a freak.

That didn't change anything, though.

"It'll be worse if they get stronger and he finds out _then_," he mumbled.

When he looked over at Gabriel, the Archangel was in the process of rolling his eyes. Somehow, even with the position he was in, he managed to look a little defeated.

"Fine," he spat. "But you're doing it. Preferably with me outta the room. And away from any pointy objects. Especially silver ones."

Sam frowned, "An angel blade won't kill you."

"Don't mean it won't hurt like Hell. What? You seriously think I get stabbed by one o' those and I'll shrug it off all, ''Tis but a scratch!' _Nooo._"

Sam snorted, smiling a little. He wasn't surprised that Monty Python was something Gabriel had taken the time to see. He frowned a little. However, now he was wondering about the accuracy of the Holy Grail myths. Before he could launch into an interrogation just to sate his curiosity, Dean exited the gas station.

Their trip resumed.

By the time they arrived at the Bunker, it was almost eight in the evening.

Sam was exhausted. Not just mentally but physically, as well. Even Gabriel had lost all energy he'd had that morning. If Sam hadn't known better, he would have been sure that the Archangel had fallen asleep with his eyes open during the last hour of the trip. Dean, for some reason, almost seemed right as rain. Sam was jealous.

"Home, sweet home!" Dean announced, chipper.

The zombie-like moans he received from the back only caused him to frown. He glared into the backseat.

"What the hell's y'all's problem?" He asked.

Then he spotted Gabriel's knees pressed into the front seat. He swatted at them, earning a yelp from the Archangel and a glare. Gabriel wriggled back up to sit in his seat properly. Sam discreetly pulled himself away from Dean's seat, as well.

"Thirteen hours, Dean," Sam groaned. "No sleep. Yeah, we're kinda tired."

Dean scoffed, opening his door and getting out of the Impala. Sam followed, grunting a little when he finally got to stretch his legs. Sure, he was in pretty good condition physically, what with the running he did, but _that_ long of a car ride? Anyone's joints wouldn't be too thrilled afterwards. When Gabriel got out, Sam was a little surprised to see him carrying his coloring book and crayons.

"I don't need to sleep and I wanna sleep," Gabriel complained, shaking his legs and then hopping in place once.

Dean frowned at him. Sam, however, went to the trunk to get their things. He was a tad resentful Dean was too busy focusing on Gabriel to remember his bag was in the back, too. Sam grabbed both, one on each shoulder, and joined the others.

"Wow," Dean mocked, walking towards the entrance of the Bunker. "Alert the presses. The great Archangel Gabriel can't stomach an old, American pastime."

Gabriel hummed pleasantly, a phony smile directed at the back of Dean's head. It was the perfect look to convey, 'I want to stab you but I can't.' He and Sam followed Dean down the concrete steps and to the Bunker door. Dean pulled the key from his pocket. He hesitated before putting it in the lock, however. Instead, he turned to look at Gabriel.

"Fuck with anything - "

"Stab. Yeah. Got it, Rambo," Gabriel answered, clearly unimpressed.

Sam huffed. And here he'd thought the car ride was annoying. He was just now coming to appreciate, and dislike, the fact that he was going to be stuck in the Bunker with these two and their ever-simmering feud. Yay.

Dean didn't retort. He finally opened the door.

The Bunker was, naturally, in the same state they'd left it. Sam walked down the staircase behind Dean, Gabriel behind him. His main focus was dropping their bags on the map table in the center of the foyer. As such, he failed to notice Gabriel's reactions.

Until he happened to catch Dean's double take when he passed him to drop their supplies on the table. Removing the straps from his shoulders, Sam turned to look at the Archangel.

Gabriel's brow was furrowed, his lips puckered, as he stood just at the end of the stairs. His eyes raked over the machines on the walls, the map, the entrance to the library portion of the Bunker. He nodded once.

"I'm having a really weird feeling of Déjà vu," he commented uneasily.

"Yeah, well," Dean replied, "your Grace was kind of a pain in our asses for almost a month, so. Scenery _should_ be a little familiar."

Gabriel ignored the jab, finally walking over towards them.

"Gotta admit, boys: This place is impressive. A little too impressive."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, trying to ignore the fatigue in his whole body.

"I mean that I'm suspicious of your precious Men of Letters," Gabriel remarked, placing his book and crayons beside their bags.

"You?" Dean asked in disbelief. "The Trickster? An Archangel? Worried about some dusty tomes and old relics a bunch of nerds collected and hid away from the world?"

Gabriel cut his eyes to look at Dean, "In case you've forgotten, my _Horn_ was in this place. Also? There's an angel banishing sigil on the floor over there," he nodded towards one of the center pillars.

"And?"

"What the hell were they doing that made them knowledgeable about a species Hunters didn't even think existed until a few years ago _and_ why were they worried that they'd have to protect themselves from said species?"

"He has a good point," Sam said. "I don't know about suspicious, but it's curious in any case."

Dean shrugged, "Whatever. I don't care."

Sam returned the shrug.

"Look," he began. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Dean, you take care of the supplies. I hauled them in here."

He took two steps before Dean was calling him back.

"Ho, ho," Dean stressed. He pointed at Gabriel, "You're takin' him with you."

"What?" Sam asked as he tried to wrap his mind around the ridiculousness of that command.

Gabriel frowned at Dean.

"I'm not down with letting _Gabriel_ run around the Bunker unattended. And I sure as hell don't want him in my room -"

"What makes you think I want him in mine?"

"Sam. Don't make me answer that."

Gabriel was trying, and failing, to keep his face neutral. Sam could see how awkward the conversation was making him.

Sam rolled his eyes, raising his arms and then letting them drop to his sides.

"Fine!" He exclaimed. "Fine. Unlike _you_, I don't get bothered by people watching me sleep."

Gabriel frowned, eyes cutting to the side as he tilted his head just a little. He seemed confused and slightly concerned about Sam's statement. Dean nodded slowly, eyes still trained on Sam.

"That was a brilliant comeback, Sammy," he joked.

Sam clenched his jaw, refusing to say anything else, and turned on his heel. He didn't bother to check and see if Gabriel was following him. He stormed all the way to his room. He was tired, he was cranky - thanks to his oh-so-considerate brother - and he actually _did_ have a little bit of an issue with people creepily staring at him while he slept.

But whatever. A good night's sleep would get rid of more than half of his problems, so that's what he was going to focus on.

Gabriel _was_ following him. He could hear the other's footsteps on the hard floor under their feet. When he reached his room, he turned to notice that Gabriel had picked up his coloring book and crayons before he'd come along. Well, at least that solved the staring issue.

Once in his room, Gabriel went straight for the chair, plopping down with a little too much gusto.

"And your brother gets onto _me_ for being the paranoid one," the Archangel muttered.

Sam grunted, stripping off his brown jacket. Gabriel snorted. Sam glared over his shoulder at him, yet Gabriel's barely-concealed grin was aimed towards the brilliantly colored ponies of his coloring book instead of Sam.

"Get your head out of the gutter," he grumbled, moving on to remove his shirt.

"Would if I could, kiddo," Gabriel replied, amused. "But, in case you haven't noticed, I typically have the emotional maturity of a frat boy."

"Explains the janitor career."

"Ha! Well-played."

Gabriel didn't say anything after that. He made no more unwanted noises about Sam's state of undress. Finally in his sleeping clothes, Sam faced the Archangel. He was a little surprised to see the other staring intently at the television. He had been, honestly, expecting Gabriel to have been watching him. Gabriel did kind of have a reputation, after all.

"Right," Sam began. "So, I don't care what you do as long as, y'know..."

"No touchie. Of any kind. And I'm assuming I'm not allowed to make any loud noises, either. Wouldn't be smart, considering there's a pistol under your pillow."

Sam frowned, "How'd - "

"Elementary, my dear Watson."

Sam paused as he nodded.

"You do know that's not really ever said in those books, right?"

Gabriel finally turned to look at him.

"Go to sleep, Sam," he said. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want. Told you that before."

Sam nodded again, this time in confirmation. He shifted awkwardly and then climbed into bed. When he glanced over at Gabriel, he had returned to staring at the screen. Sam wouldn't be all that surprised if he woke up with it on. He'd become very accustomed to the restlessness of the Archangel, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I apologize for the intensity of plot building in this chapter but, well, they had to plan and get ducks in a row.**

* * *

When Sam woke up, it was after one hell of a dream.

It hadn't been lucid. Which wasn't what he'd expected. After all, he'd gotten used to the Grace walking into his dreams, so he'd thought Gabriel would do the same. He hadn't, obviously.

The content of the dream was hard to figure out. With how often it'd jumped around, Sam was surprised he remembered any of it. There'd been angels, he remembered. Lucifer had been there. For some reason, Sam hadn't felt frightened of him.

Sam always felt frightened of him...

The dream had been populated by a lot of people he didn't know but he felt he knew. Nothing unusual for a dream, really.

He'd interacted with them. Had some fun. But it was with a more distant feeling of happiness. Something always felt_ off _to him. Like...he always wondered why he was feeling what he was. Because, sometimes, what dream-him laughed at or did wasn't really that great. So, why'd he do it? It didn't make any sense.

And he was all over the place. Forest. Mountain. Beach. He'd probably been to every biome that existed at least once.

He hadn't been too fond of the colder climates, yet he was there more often than he liked. Why? Why put up with it? He didn't know. But, it was a dream. Was he supposed to know?

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Sam looked around his room for Gabriel.

The Archangel was nowhere to be found. His coloring book and crayons were missing. The TV _was_ on, though muted and showing a wonderful screen of static.

Sam groaned and buried his face in the mattress. He really hoped Gabriel had left because he'd sensed Dean up, or something, because, otherwise, there was going to be a confrontation. One that Sam didn't want to hear or deal with.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday. Early yesterday.

Moaning petulantly, Sam pushed himself up and got out of bed.

He grabbed a change of clothes, mentally beat himself up over the fact he'd left his toothbrush and such in the duffle he'd left on the table, took a shower anyway, and made his way to the kitchen. He debated whether or not he wanted coffee or some toast and jelly. Maybe both. He wasn't one-hundred percent certain that the milk in the fridge was still good. In fact, he was only, like, fifty-percent certain.

He wondered what coffee and toast and jelly would taste like.

Then, he paused as he looked up at the fridge and his mental process snapped to what was _on_ the fridge.

Crayon-colored ponies were on the fridge. Four of then, to be precise. A blond and white one, a blue and black one, a tan and green-eyed one, and a mostly brown one. And on each of these ponies was a name scrawled in amazingly-fancy lettering: Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Gabriel.

Sam tilted his head as he stared at the coloring pages.

He was at a loss for what to think. The sense of humor meant was obvious. The fact that Gabriel had stuck the pictures up on the fridge was, most likely, a dig at Dean for giving him the book in the first place. But, then there was the fact that Gabriel had added himself into the bunch.

Sam wasn't so much offended at the idea as he was saddened by it. Because he wasn't entirely sure Gabriel was with them. Not in the long-haul sense.

Of course, there was also the fact that _last time_ he'd helped them out...

Dean walked into the kitchen. Sam looked at him from over his shoulder. His brother only glanced at the drawings before frowning in disgust.

"Yeah. Real cute, ain't it?" He griped.

He had a coffee cup in his hand. A cup he stopped at the maker to refill. He was still wearing his ridiculous bathrobe. He mustn't have been up long.

Sam _really_ hoped Gabriel hadn't skirted past Dean to wherever the hell he was. Because Sam did _not_ have a good explanation for why the Archangel wasn't right on his heels.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "I don't know. I think the cowboy hat yours is wearing is kinda fitting."

Dean scoffed, "Leave my 'fetish' out of it."

Sam smirked. Deciding on toast and jelly, he finally opened the fridge.

"Oh, and, get this," Dean continued, turning around, coffee in hand. "They won't come off."

"What?" Sam pulled out the jelly jar and the half-gone loaf of bread. "Did he superglue them on, or something?"

"No," Dean took a sip of coffee and swallowed. "As far as I can tell he's used some sort of angel mojo on it. I've tried everything to rip those damn things off. They're more stubborn than he is."

Sam nodded in agreement. Gabriel was that. Stubborn. Sometimes, not even intentionally. Though, he was pretty sure this time there was intention.

Sam made his toast. Dean didn't say anything after that, just sort of watched him while he continued to lean up against the table the coffee maker was on. Sam tried not to let it bother him. He failed. He had a good hunch what Dean was going to ask him about and he was dreading it.

Dean followed him out of the kitchen and into the small, adjacent room where the dining table and chairs were. He waited until Sam sat down to ask what had, no doubt, been running around his mind.

"So," he drawled. "Gabriel..."

Sam feigned ignorance as he hummed curiously while chewing his food. He looked up at Dean, eyebrows raised. Dean blinked. Then he licked his lips.

"You two... Do anything... Last night?"

Sam wrinkled his brow as he shook his head. Okay, yeah. That hadn't actually been what he thought Dean was going to ask. He was banking on, 'Where's Gabriel?' Sam swallowed his bite and looked back up at Dean.

"No?" He half-asked. "Why-why...? _What?_"

It was Dean's turn to look a tad confused.

"I thought you two were like," he motioned with his hand, "a _thing_."

Sam nodded slowly in disbelief.

"No," he answered genuinely.

Dean frowned, "Oh, come on! You and the Grace - "

Sam held up a hand, "Was the Grace. Trust me: There's a difference. Nothing's going on between me and Gabriel. So...you can stop thinking about it."

Dean nearly pouted, and Sam was pretty sure it had to do with the fact he was wrong about something. After all, he couldn't see why Dean would be bummed if he wasn't in a relationship with someone Dean despised.

"By the way," Dean began, turning his attention back to Sam, "when did Gabriel leave your room last night?"

Sam nearly choked on the bite he'd just taken.

"Uh," he replied eloquently.

"Nice, Sammy."

"I need to sleep sometime, Dean. I really don't know what you expected would happen," he explained. "You can't pin him down, anyway. He's an Archangel. One with a mind of his own."

"Holy Fire seemed to work last time."

Sam took a deep breath and looked at his brother sternly.

"Don't you dare," Sam commanded. "He's been through enough shit. And do you _really_ want to get on his bad side? Just because he's agreed to help us now doesn't mean he won't turn on us _if_ you threaten him."

Dean scoffed and looked away. Sam didn't miss how his hands tightened around his coffee cup. He was probably envisioning Gabriel's neck.

"Man, this sucks."

Sam refused to comment. He didn't want to get into a heated argument. It was too early in the morning, for one thing. However, as he was finishing his first piece of toast, he remembered what he'd told Gabriel in the car the day before. About telling Dean about the bond.

A feeling of dread traveled through his veins like ice. But, as he'd told Gabriel, Dean had to know. Now. Before anything weird happened and his brother exploded after having been lied to. Again. A heated argument would look like a mild disagreement if that happened.

"Um," Sam hesitated, smacking his hands free of crumbs. "So, I asked Gabriel about the bond."

"Yeah, what the hell's that all about?" Dean prompted, grumpily.

"Well, y'know how Gabriel made that slightly weird analogy about me being a water fountain?"

"Uh-huh."

"Let's just say...there's a possibility that...if water keeps getting poured into me, I could keep...running?"

Sam stared uneasily at his brother. Dean blinked at him. Yeah, he hadn't understood what Sam had said. Sam kind of didn't understand it himself.

"Mind speaking English?" Dean asked.

"Okay. Let's try the electricity one. Think of the bond like the wires in a circuit. Gabriel's the battery; I'm the bulb. If the wires aren't cut and I keep pulling power from the battery...I'll keep glowing."

"Uh-huh."

"And I may just start to glow brighter?"

Dean tilted his head. He frowned. He opened and shut his mouth. He shook his head. He, finally, pointed at Sam with vague comprehension.

"So, what you're saying is: If y'all keep using this weird ass bond thing, those little psychic powers Gabriel mentioned - the dream walking - will not only stay around but will get _worse?_"

Sam shrugged, "I wouldn't say 'worse' but there's a possibility that they'll strengthen, or that I might get more. Like, how with Azazel I started with visions and then there was that one instance of telekinesis."

Dean nodded, "Oh. Oh, great. Like Azazel. Because that's just - "

"Dean," Sam stressed. "I know. I don't want to be a freak anymore, either. But Gabriel's already told me that the bond isn't detrimental. Like, there's no... there's no addiction, for one thing. And he's said that, if I don't use it, maybe the powers will just... shrivel up and go away, or something."

Okay, so that hadn't been _exactly_ what Gabriel had said. He'd inferred that Sam's psychic abilities had always been there, just remained dormant. However, Sam wasn't going to tell Dean _that_. It wasn't relevant, really. Non-working powers weren't dangerous, for one thing. For another, he didn't want to hear Dean rant about how he's been traveling with a time bomb, or something equally stupid and inflammatory.

"Well, at least that's a plus," Dean grumbled. "Just don't use the bond and everything will be fine. Back to normal, for the most part."

Yeah. Back to normal. As if there ever was such a thing in their lives.

Dean excused himself, remarking about how he was going to get dressed and then hunt down the Archangel. Not literally, much to his chagrin. Sam was left to eat his toast and jelly in peace. Sort of. If he didn't count the fact that his mind was whirling at a thousand miles a minute.

He was warring with himself, he realized. On the one hand, he didn't want to be psychic. He didn't want the hassle that came with that. On the other... Well, he'd always been curious in nature. That's why he'd always stuck to his guns when it came to schoolwork. He loved learning. Unfortunately, that desire to learn also spread to figuring out just what he could do if he _did_ continue to draw off the bond - if he continued to exercise his powers.

Lucid dreaming might be an extension of his psychic abilities, he realized. He was used to it, he'd told Gabriel. It happened frequently compared to some.

He hadn't had a psychic vision since Azazel, but... Maybe, with the bond, he could tap back into it. He hated them, of course. Hated how real they could seem. However, they had also been useful. They could use useful right now.

He huffed a quiet laugh to himself as he cleaned up his mess.

He was like Neo. Wondering if he should take the red or blue pill.

Finished with his food, Sam headed towards the library. He intended to get his duffle bag. His laptop was in it and he wanted to see if he could use it to get a lead on Metatron or Gadreel.

Technically, that was Castiel's job, but Sam was still worried about the whole 'living a script' thing. They'd done that once before. It hadn't ended well. With him aiding Cas' search, even if only for half of his research time, maybe they could find a lead much faster. It only seemed logical, right?

However, when Sam entered the library, he spotted Gabriel sitting at the map table. Sam's laptop was in front of him. He was lazily scrolling through something, eyes darting back and forth like he was reading. Sam was afraid to know what.

He was also slightly annoyed.

He remembered what happened to the last laptop Gabriel's influence had gotten to.

Sam walked quickly over to the Archangel, hoping and praying that his dear piece of technology would not be horribly ruined. Or defiled.

"What are you doing?" He demanded tartly.

Gabriel didn't look up from the screen. Nor did he bother to stop scrolling or stop reading whatever he was.

"Research," he mumbled, the hand he was resting his head on slightly masking his speech.

Sam frowned. Okay, well, that was a plus. He expected something far less helpful and a lot more Gabriel. He certainly wasn't going to complain that Gabriel was taking initiative. Perhaps the Archangel was actively going to try and help them this time. It _was_ in his best interest, after all.

Sam shuffled forward a bit so that he could lean over and peek at what Gabriel was reading.

Gabriel was going entirely too fast for him - perks of being an angel, Sam assumed - but the tidbits he did catch mentioned him. By name. And Sam's name. And a lot of scenery exposition that sounded a lot like the Mystery Spot.

Wait.

Lightning fast, Sam lunged forward, colliding with Gabriel as he did so, to snatch his laptop off the table. The Archangel squawked in protest as his head bounced off Sam's chest. Once the laptop was secured, Sam stepped back and shut the screen with a definitive snap.

"Still not fond of other people touching your laptop?" Gabriel asked as he rotated in the chair to stare at Sam.

He had a small, disapproving frown on his face. Sam really didn't care.

"Why were you reading that crap?" He questioned harshly.

"Thought I already answered that question," Gabriel replied easily.

"Research for what?" Sam snapped.

"Relax, kiddo. I have it on good authority that Metatron used dear ol' Chuck's books to gain his," Gabriel rolled his eyes in disgust, "_inspiration_ when it came to me and my characterization. I was just curious to see what the prophet wrote."

"Why? You were there."

Gabriel smiled pleasantly, "We both know there's two sides to any story. Or three. Four. However many characters the author's writing for. As such..."

The Archangel trailed off, staring expectantly at Sam. Sam hadn't a clue what Gabriel was fishing for. When Gabriel realized that, he sighed.

"There might be information in those books that none of us know personally, but that don't mean it ain't relevant."

Sam slowly loosened his death grip on his laptop as he lowered it.

That made sense. Becky had been the one to tell them that the Colt hadn't been given to Lilith but to Crowley. Something Sam and Dean hadn't known. However...

"These books stop after I was thrown into the Cage, though. What good is looking at them going to be?"

Gabriel shrugged, "Never _hurts_ to look. But, hey. You're right. I'm probably wasting my time. ...And Metatron _really_ sucks at writing me."

Sam frowned again, "Is that all you did after you snuck outta my room?"

"Nope. Went snooping around the Bunker. If the Men of Letters hadn't been such pacifists, they woulda been dangerous." Gabriel smirked, "And if you two even knew half the stuff at your disposal _and_ how to use it, _you'd_ be dangerous, too."

"I wouldn't get too cocky," Dean's voice said from behind Sam.

Sam turned to see his brother dressed, a disapproving scowl on his face. Naturally, it was aimed towards Gabriel. As he approached, Dean folded his arms across his chest.

"We're pretty good on our own. Know how to deal with you, in any case."

"Dean," Sam cautioned.

"Ooh," Gabriel cooed sarcastically. "Quakin' in my boots, Dean."

"Gabriel," Sam warned.

It was weird having to get onto both of them at the same time. Sam did not look forward to the future. And he certainly didn't appreciate being made into the chaperone of two, fully-grown men.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean questioned the Archangel, deciding against an argument.

Or, at least, to move on to a different one. Sam frowned at the idea.

Gabriel puckered his lips, "Mmm, around."

"Yeah. I got that. What the hell were you doing?"

Gabriel sighed loudly, slumping in his chair, "Y'know, if you two would stay up each other's asses more than you already do, I wouldn't have to repeat myself."

Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean. Both shifted uncomfortably at the same time. After all, the elephant in the room was that their relationship was still on shaky ground. When Sam looked back at Gabriel, the Archangel was frowning slightly as his eyes darted between the two of them. Oh, great.

"Uh-huh," Gabriel said. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned sardonically. "Paradise is _on Earth_, and it's kinda makin' a mess of things. We're trying to fix that, remember? You're supposed to be helping us. And, instead, you're..._around_."

Gabriel hummed. He was very nonchalant in the face of that accusation.

"Alright," Gabriel began, "I'm just going to go ahead and get this out of the way: I'm not going to hold you boys' hands. I said I'd _help_, not that I'd _sweep up your mess_."

"Funny, I think I've heard that phrase from you before."

"You have. Point still stands."

"Okay," Sam interrupted, gaining their attention. He looked at Gabriel, "No one's asking you to wave your hand and make it all go away. I mean, I'm pretty sure you couldn't do that even if you wanted to."

Gabriel smiled ruefully. Sam was right, then. The Fall _had_ weakened Gabriel more than he was letting on. He'd still be a formidable opponent, most likely, but he didn't seem to be anywhere near the strength he had been before.

"All we need from you is a direction or-or some info on how Heaven's Gates work. Where this Door is. We can pull our own weight. We've done it before."

Gabriel seemed to be mulling Sam's words around. Probably thinking if it was worth it or not. It was in his best interest, of course, but Gabriel also had a habit of kicking and screaming about a plan he didn't like. Sometimes, Sam wondered if Gabriel was the spoiled sibling of the Archangels. He was definitely the most immature.

"Fine," Gabriel said eventually. "Though, you might wanna sit. Kinda a long story."

Sam looked at Dean. When Dean nodded to him, they both walked to the table. Sam sat beside Gabriel, Dean sat across from Sam. A good thing, too, because Sam was pretty sure chaos would have ensued had Dean sat across from Gabriel. It probably would have started with a not-so-flirtatious game of footsie and then...

Once they had seated, Gabriel shifted so he could better see both of them. Sam placed his laptop on the table, making sure to shove it away from Gabriel. The Archangel smirked a little at him because of it. Sam narrowed his eyes in return.

"So." Dean said, wiggling in the hard chair to get comfortable. "Stairway to Heaven."

"Well, for one, there's no such thing," Gabriel made sure to clarify.

The blank stare Dean gave him clearly indicated how much he cared.

"For another, there's not even a _door, _really."

"Then how do we get in?" Sam questioned, confused.

"Oh, there's a way in. It's just not a door. What Metatron's using is a spell designed to punch a hole into Heaven that then seals as soon as you pass through."

"Okay, great," Dean commented. "What's the spell?"

"I ain't got a clue," Gabriel replied.

"Oh. Wonderful."

"Even if I did, you need to know where the weak spot in the fabric of Heaven is to even use it. And, I can guarantee ya: Metatron keeps moving that."

"Okay, well, not to be rude, Gabriel, but," Sam began, "exactly _how_ can you help us?"

Gabriel shrugged, "I add humor. I'm easy on the eyes."

It was Sam's turn to stare blankly at the Archangel. Dean rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Alright." Dean faced Sam, "I say we stab him now."

"Oh!" Gabriel exclaimed, raising a finger, "And I know what angel _does_ know the location of the ever-shifting path to Heaven."

Sam nodded once. Okay. He didn't understand why Gabriel didn't just say that. Other than beating around the bush was kind of Gabriel's _thing_. Probably made him feel good about himself to know something others didn't...and then rub their noses in it.

Why was he still attracted to this asshole?

"Who?" Dean demanded, tired and frustrated.

"Well, ya just released him back to his master."

"Gadreel," Sam guessed. "Great."

"Newsflash, Gabriel: That asshat isn't going to be helping us anytime soon," Dean growled.

"And why is that?" Gabriel asked, though his tone of voice indicated he already knew the answer.

"Y'know what? Bite me, Gabriel."

"Funny, I think I've heard that phrase from you before."

"We're not working with Gadreel," Sam said slowly.

The very thought infuriated him. That angel had tricked him, stolen his body, used it whenever he wanted... Killed Kevin. Sam would never stop having nightmares about that. So, fuck him. They'd find another way to get to door. Or, not-door. Whatever.

When he looked over to Gabriel, the Archangel was stern. Disapproving, in an understanding sort of way. Sam had been under the impression that only teachers could give that look.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Gabriel replied. "Alls I'm sayin' is that, if you want to find Metatron, he's the guy you gotta get."

"Last time we _got_ him, he wasn't too helpful," Dean complained.

"Well, if you treated him anything like you did me," Gabriel cocked his head to look at Dean, "then I don't doubt why."

Dean scoffed, "So we should be nice to fucker who killed Kevin?"

"You took an angel that has been locked up and tortured since the Dawn of Time...and locked him up and tortured him. You tell me Dean: Does that sound like a good way to get information out of someone? Or does it sound like a way to make them desperate and unpredictable?"

"Just. Stop," Sam held up his hand. "Worst-case scenario, we'll go that route. But for now? No. Let's try to exhaust the other avenues we got."

"What? Cas and his little stormtroopers?" Gabriel mocked. "Because he did a _really_ good job locating God _last time_."

The slap Sam's hand made when it encountered the back of Gabriel's head was extremely satisfying. As was the indignant yelp. Gabriel tried to slap back. He missed. Sam's head twitched as he smiled condescendingly at the other.

"At least he's _trying. _More than you've done regarding a lot of things."

Gabriel frowned in annoyance. Yet, he didn't say anything back. Didn't come up with a rebuttal. Because he knew Sam was right. He knew that Sam knew Sam was right. What point would there be in arguing against the truth?

When Sam glanced at Dean, his brother wore a smug expression. No doubt because Gabriel'd just been smacked.

"Now that that's taken care of," Dean spoke, "why don't we discuss the whole Abaddon issue? Since, y'know, we have a better chance of solving that problem."

Gabriel faced Dean, confused. Sam grew apprehensive. Cas hadn't responded favorably to the Mark of Cain when he discovered it. Sam had a funny feeling that Gabriel's reaction was going to be _worse._ And he wasn't entirely sure he could hold the Archangel back from strangling his brother.

"What do you mean?" Gabriel questioned, and Sam's pulse went just a little faster.

His eyes darted quickly over to Dean. Dean didn't seem to notice the danger he was about to put himself in. Not good.

"We have the First Blade," Dean answered.

"That doesn't work - "

"Unless we have the Mark of Cain. Yeah, I know. Kinda took care of that little issue."

Gabriel blinked. Just once. Then his eyes widened just slightly as his eyebrows rose. His surprise quickly morphed into comprehension, and then even faster into rage. He glared at Dean.

"You didn't," he demanded.

"Oh, yes, I did. We need - "

Dean stopped as Gabriel rocked back in his chair, head thrown back as if the stupidity he'd just heard come out of Dean's mouth had punched him in the face. The Archangel pushed himself up and stormed a few feet away from the table.

"Boy, I gotta tell ya, Dean," Gabriel nearly shouted as he spun around to glare at him, "out of all the dumb fucking things you've done, _this one_ takes the cake!"

"Oh, come off it!" Dean shouted back, raising from his once-relaxed position. "What's with you _angels_ and -"

"Do you have _any_ goddamn idea what the _thing_ on your arm's capable of?!"

"Yeah! Stopping Abaddon!"

"Besides that, genius!"

Dean opened and shut his mouth a few times. He was livid, but his hesitation to find words wasn't coming from his anger. He was stuttering because he _didn't_ know what Gabriel had asked. He was unsure what Gabriel meant.

Sam didn't like that at all.

Gabriel cackled in disbelief, "You don't, do you? You didn't _think_ before you took the Mark from Cain. _Cain!_ You ever stop to wonder where he's painted as the _bad guy_ in the great Holy Bible?"

Dean's upper lip twitched in rage at the Archangel. His eyes were on fire. Sam had seen that look before.

"Dean," Sam spoke softly, trying to warn his brother against doing anything _else_ remarkably stupid.

"Yeah," Dean snapped, his eyes not leaving Gabriel. "I know all about how Abel was actually talking to _Lucifer_ and that _that's_ why Cain took the Mark. To _save_ his brother."

"Oh, ho, is that what Cain said?" Gabriel asked as he began to pace. "Well, he wasn't wrong. Lucifer _was_ talking to Abel. Because he wanted a Vessel. He wanted a way to play with the little hairless apes where they wouldn't know any better. Wouldn't see the devil in disguise and he could play them like a fiddle.

"He wanted to utterly ruin humanity. He had a plan to do that in Abel. Y'see, Abel was the youngest, he was attractive in more ways than one, and, hoo, my brother saw a little bit of himself in the boy. He wanted him. But Abel kept telling him no."

Sam frowned. He hadn't been with Dean when he'd met Cain. In fact, he was hearing about the origin of the Mark for the first time. But... Gabriel's story was conflicting with Dean's. Or, Cain's. Sam glanced back at Dean and noticed that his rage had disappeared. Now, he was just confused. And worried. He knew what Gabriel was implying, too.

Gabriel smiled ruefully, "That's right, Dean-o. Cain killed his brother for no reason at all. Abel didn't need saving. He was saving himself."

Again, Sam looked at Dean. Dean was staring at the table.

"That doesn't change anything. We still need the Mark," he mumbled.

"Lucifer gave that Mark to Cain," Gabriel continued, "to corrupt him. To use him as an instrument of destruction because Lucifer couldn't do it himself. What was Cain when you ran into him?"

Sam inhaled sharply. Dean's eyes widened as he snapped his head up to look at Gabriel. He glanced at Sam and then back. He shook his head.

"No," he stated firmly.

"You're becoming a demon, Dean," Gabriel replied easily, though there was no mocking tone in his voice now.

"I..." Dean stammered. "I'll kill myself first. I - "

"Dean," Sam breathed.

"I'm not becoming a demon!" Dean shouted in distress. "I'm not going to become the thing that we spent all our lives trying to get rid of!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Gabriel's voice spoke from over Sam's shoulder.

Sam jolted a little at the sudden closeness. He hadn't heard the Archangel walk towards him. Dean glared at Gabriel.

"It's transforming your soul. What do you think is going to happen when your soul is freed from its fleshy confines?"

"W-well what am I supposed to do then? Just _wait_ for the inevitable." Dean implored.

"Hell if I know," Gabriel answered. "Maybe you shoulda thought of that before."

"Gab - " Sam cut himself off and started again. "Okay, look. We'll figure something out. There's... The Men of Letters had that cure, right? Remember? The one I tried on Crowley. Well, sorta tried. What if we used that on you?"

"Would that work?"

"I don't see why it wouldn't?"

"What cure?" Gabriel interrupted.

Sam looked up at him. The Archangel didn't look confused so much as suspicious. Also thoughtful. Thoughtful was good. At least that meant Gabriel was legitimately trying to help them get to the bottom of something. Other than just rubbing the situation in Dean's face.

"The Men of Letters discovered a way to use, like, purified blood to cure a demon. It was a spell, or ritual. Cleansed their souls. Made them human again."

"Fancy trick," Gabriel murmured. "Don't know how it'll affect a mid-transition human soul, but... If push comes to shove."

"So... So, I'm good?" Dean asked shakily, glancing back and forth at Sam and Gabriel.

"No," Gabriel smiled humorless as he nodded. "See, the Mark's still on your arm. So! Cleansing you would..."

Sam rolled his eyes in frustration. Dean frowned.

"As long as the Mark's there - "

"I'm fucked."

"Dean," Sam began.

"There might be a way to get rid of it," Gabriel stated, gaining both Sam's and Dean's rapt attention. "Don't look at me like that. I don't know for sure, alright?

"But Cain passed on the Mark. Maybe...he can take it back."

Dean shifted uncomfortably but nodded his understanding. Sam glanced at him, worried.

He knew the Mark had been affecting Dean. He'd known Dean was acting worse than he usually did on the jerk scale. He hadn't realized - hadn't thought it was possible - that what the Mark was doing was actually changing his brother from the inside out.

And Sam knew what it felt like to have something monstrous festering inside. Knew what it felt like to try and ignore that, to convince himself that the power it gave was worth it and that he was doing the right thing... Only to have the truth slap him in the face.

He also knew how Dean was going to handle that information.

"Alright. I need - I need to go. I need to drive."

Sam frowned, watching his brother stand quickly from his chair. Dean didn't look at him, or Gabriel. He just headed straight for the stairs. And Sam didn't try to stop him. Because he knew Dean needed his space, that he needed to let off some steam. He needed time to think.

"Word of warning, Dean-o," Gabriel called after him, arms folded loosely, "don't do anything too _demonic._"

The reply he was given was a quick middle finger and, soon enough, a very loudly slammed door. Sam gave the back of Gabriel's head a disapproving look. One the Archangel didn't see when he turned to look down at Sam, because Sam had just caught onto the possible meaning of Gabriel's warning.

"You think that'll make it worse?" He questioned.

"How do you think souls wind up in Hell, even if their humans haven't squandered them away in a deal?" Gabriel replied solemnly.

"Great."

"Yeah. Great! Now, not only is Metatron and Hell's greatest hits something we gotta watch out for, but your dear, sweet brother, too! And y'all wonder why I stayed my ass in Heaven."

Sam was going to quip about how, yeah, it was because Gabriel was probably the biggest coward in the universe, but then he noticed the way the other turned away. That small sparkle of emotion in his eyes just as bit at the inside of his lip. Ah! Revelation.

"You _care_," Sam accused, small smirk pulling at his lips. "This is like that time in Elysian Fields when you tried to brush off your being there are _just_ sentimentality. You care and you're pissed that you care. Because caring means you actually have to do something. Ha! Wow."

He pointed at Gabriel, "I got your number."

Gabriel gave him a side glance, "Now that you're done psychoanalyzing me, mind showing me this Men of Letters research you stumbled upon? I mean, being a creature that's been around since the inception of demons, I kinda'd like to know how humans discovered a way of getting rid of them without getting rid of them."

Sam snorted and stood, "Hairless apes knowing more than you hit below the belt?"

Gabriel hummed.

Sam still felt bad, because of Dean's situation and how much it sucked, but bantering with Gabriel at least provided some lift in his mood. He knew Dean'd be using Jim, Jack, Johnny and Jose to lift his. Not the healthiest way, but...

"Well, we could forego the research portion and I just show you the video they made of the procedure."

"Ooh," Gabriel replied, eyebrows raised. "There any popcorn?"

"We had some once, but Cas kinda beat ya to it."

"Figures. Why'd he get it, anyway? He's an angel."

Sam waited a moment before informing him, "So are you..."

Gabriel scoffed and shrugged in a manner that asked, 'What does that have to do with anything?' Sam simply nodded at him and then turned to fetch the old projector from the storage room. He paused a few steps away, refaced Gabriel, and pointed at his laptop.

"Don't touch."

He made it two more steps before he turned and added:

"And don't conjure popcorn."

"Geh! You can't watch a movie without popcorn! It's a sin!"

"No, it isn't."

"It should be!"

Sam rolled his eyes and finally went on his way.

He only hoped Gabriel would do as he was told. For once. The last thing they needed was their ace in the hole wasting his power on a snack. The last thing Gabriel needed was to weaken himself. It was in everyone's best interest if the popcorn stayed nonexistent.

When he returned to foyer, film and small projector in hand, Gabriel was, thankfully, right where Sam had left him. Granted, he was sitting down and looking like the most bored being on the face of the planet, but he was still there. And Sam's laptop was still closed, pushed towards the far end of the map table. Good. Gabriel _could_ follow directions, after all.

Sam requested that Gabriel follow him into the library, where it would be easier to use the projector. Gabriel dragged himself out of his chair as if he were straining against quicksand. Sam made sure to comment that moving wasn't going to kill him. Gabriel quipped that he never knew, it just might. Sam sighed at the other's theatrics.

Gabriel didn't conjure any popcorn all throughout the short video of the Man of Letters performing the ritual. In fact, he watched with rapt attention, his face amazingly unexpressive. He didn't flinch at the grotesque scenarios the demon talked about; the screams didn't bother him. Sam realized that, maybe, that was because Gabriel was also the Trickster. He knew how to do bad, too. Even if not in the same vein as a demon. It was a slightly worrying thought.

What was worse was that Sam foolishly wanted to hope that he was wrong about that darkness in Gabriel. It was almost a failing of his, wanting to see the good in people, or monsters. The situation with the Grace hadn't helped matters. After all, he got to see the personality of a Gabriel, as the Grace had said, that still had it in him to hope. Sam wondered if he could get Gabriel to do that again.

Knowing his luck, he'd just get his hand bitten again.

When the film ended, Sam shut off the projector. Gabriel merely blinked as he continued to stare at the spot on the wall where the image had been. He smirked briefly.

"Human ingenuity's really somethin', isn't it?" Gabriel asked.

"What do you mean?" Sam frowned, confused as to what brought on that statement.

"An angel's Grace is too strong to purify a soul," he explained, finally looking at Sam. "That's why we _smite_. We...overcook. Too much juice and _pfft_. Charbroiled.

"But this person," he pointed briefly at the wall, "or the Men of Letters, came up with the idea to use a soul to purify a soul. I mean, as corny and gushy as it sounds, they literally thought that the power of love and divine forgiveness would wash away the sins. Heh, and the funny thing is that it worked."

Gabriel shook his head in amusement, "Sure the Beatles would love to hear that."

"But will it work on Dean?"

Gabriel stared at him for a few seconds. Silent. Not blinking. It was kinda creeping Sam out.

"If push comes to shove," Gabriel reiterated. "Yeah. If you do it, yeah."

Sam nodded. Good. That was good. At least, that was better than the alternative. He was sure Dean wouldn't want to... To become a demon and kinda be fed his brother's blood, and Sam really didn't like the idea of giving Dean his blood, but... If it had to be done, it had to be done.

"By the way," Gabriel began. "Any weird dreams last night?"

Sam's eyes widened a little before he schooled his expression. He did, however, forget to not fidget nervously. Gabriel didn't miss his reaction. That stare of his only seemed to intensify.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, unsure of why he was being questioned. "Like, I mean... It wasn't lucid. So, that's a plus, right? There were some places I haven't been to before. Not unusual. Dream me was kind of a jerk. But, sometimes it was more reactionary jerkishness. I saw Lucifer for a bit, but he didn't do anything to me. _That_ part was weird..."

"I think jerk's probably a little light of a sentence coming from you, Sam."

Sam frowned, "What?"

Gabriel smirked, "Lemme guess: Lotta cold places?"

Sam's face became blank as he realized, "I dream walked again, didn't I?"

"Yup."

"I - " Sam stammered, bringing his hands to his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I..."

He dropped his hands to glare accusingly at the Archangel.

"Why didn't you stop me?"

Gabriel shrugged with a shoulder, "Already told you: I ain't doin' anything you don't want me to. Your subconscious wants to take a little stroll through my head? I'll let it. Though, it is really weird having your brain poked while still conscious. Usually, it's the other way around for me."

Sam huffed, "And how do I know you didn't just let me do that so I could strengthen my powers, or whatever?"

Gabriel smiled, "I find your suspicion of me endearing. Keep using that brain of yours, Sam. However, you're wrong with that accusation. Eh, sorta wrong."

"You wanna elaborate?"

"You walked into my head _on accident._ If you want to stop using your powers, you have to learn how to control them first. To keep from using them _on accident."_

"So that I don't accidentally make them escalate too far," Sam mumbled.

"Bingo."

Sam sighed. He was exhausted. It was the start of the day and he was exhausted. Crawling back to bed and hiding under the covers sounded like a really good idea. Unfortunately, running from his problems never made them go away. And he really didn't want to drift back off into dreamland while Dean was still out, probably at the closest bar he could find.

Hell, he didn't even want to go back to dreamland. He tended to _wander_ when there.

"Okay, well. Now what?" He asked lifelessly.

"Mmm, I say we go get popcorn and watch that _Game of Thrones_ DVD set you have hidden in your drawers."

"What is with you and the popcorn? _Why_ were you in my drawers?"

Gabriel smirked suggestively.

"Out of the gutter!"

Gabriel stuck his tongue out at him and then got out of his chair. Sam wondered where he was going for a moment until he realized that that was the direction of the garage. Where the cars were. That Gabriel probably wanted them to take so they could go get popcorn. Yay.

With a groan, Sam pushed himself up and followed after the Archangel. He made sure to leave a note _and_ a text telling Dean where they were going, just in the off-chance that Dean got back before they did.


	3. Chapter 3

"You sure you're okay with this?" Sam asked, glancing over at Gabriel in the passenger seat.

"It was my idea, wasn't it?"

"Because those have _always_ worked out in the past."

"Hey! I'll have you know I've never been found when I didn't wanna be," Gabriel announced smugly as he returned the glance.

Sam nodded, "So, you _wanted_ Metatron to find you?"

Gabriel scoffed, gaze returning to the road, "That doesn't count. He cheated. All-seeing eyes and whatnot."

Sam frowned. The light he was coming to turned yellow so he slowed to a stop. He used the time the light provided him to stare at the Archangel beside him.

Said Archangel that had him driving to the local supermarket on Main St. because he wanted _popcorn_.

"If Metatron has 'all-seeing eyes', then how, exactly, are the wards you placed on the car going to keep you hidden?" Sam demanded, suddenly wishing he'd stayed in the Bunker for a completely different reason than the stupidity of their quest.

"Ye of little faith," Gabriel mumbled. He lolled his head to look at Sam and continued, "I wasn't really prepared for him last time, Einstein. I heard the Horn and went to it. Yeah, brilliant, I know. This time? Got a better idea of what I'm dealing with. Trust me: He's not gonna be spyin' me anytime soon."

Sam nodded, facing the road, "Okay... How long is _soon_?"

Gabriel gave a strangled noise, "Do you really have to question everything? All the time? Can you not just kill the motor for...half an hour?"

In one fluid motion, Sam put the car in park and turned the ignition off. He turned to give Gabriel the best no-nonsense stare in his repertoire. He managed not to smirk at how intensely Gabriel rolled his eyes just before placing his head in hands.

Gabriel drug them down his face and gave Sam an unamused glare.

"The light's gonna turn green eventually," he grumbled.

"There's no one behind us."

"Yeah, well, the longer we sit here, the shorter 'soon' gets. Basic logic, Sam."

Sam reluctantly turned the car back on and put it back in gear.

"So, soon's not very long, then," he guessed. "And we're wasting that time getting _popcorn_."

"Now who's obsessed with it?"

"Bite me, Gabriel."

"You and your brother must be into some really kinky shit."

The light turned green. Sam may have given the car just a little more gas than it needed to get moving, causing it to jerk forward. He let off the pedal in way of apology. His frown, however, remained.

Yeah. Gabriel was annoying. But what was _frustrating_ was the seemingly never-ending sexual innuendos he kept using. Because the elephant was still in the room. It was a very big elephant, for Sam, and it was equally as annoying. Gabriel, on the other hand, stuck with the notion of not mentioning it. Hell, Sam wondered if he even saw it.

Sam saw it. Sam saw it all the damn time. Any time he looked at Gabriel there was a big, bright, neon sign flashing in his mind's eye that tauntingly went, "Remember that time you thought it'd be a good idea to sex up an angel of the Lord, even if it was just in your head?" And he would tell his mind's eye, "Yes, I remember. But that's not the same Gabriel. Different circumstances. I kinda wanna strangle this one." His body would reply, "Don't care."

To say he was frustrated would actually be a bit of an understatement. He was frustrated that he was frustrated, on top of it.

Sam didn't realize he was speeding until Gabriel snarked, "Yo, lead foot."

He let off the gas, the car slowing to the posted speed limit. Though he rolled his shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension, his fingers continued to grip the steering wheel a little too tightly.

"Y'know," Gabriel began conversationally, "I gotta ask: Where'd you get this little Hot Wheels? I mean, with bozo driving you around everywhere... And the Men of Letters seemed to stop giving a damn after the late 50's."

Sam snorted and mumbled, "More like they were murdered in the late 50's."

"Tough break."

An uncomfortable pause came between them.

Tough break, indeed.

"Uh, yeah," Sam replied, going back to the original question. "Stole it. ...I actually had to go back and get it, one time. Um. Long story short, Dean and I split up, I rejoined him, and left the car. Had him drive me back later because I thought, 'Why not?' It's not that bad of a car."

Gabriel hummed in amusement. Sam glanced at him to see a small smirk on his face.

"And the fact it's named_ Demon_ didn't influence you at all?" The Archangel teased.

Sam challenged, "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Only that irony follows you like white on rice."

"Uh-huh. And what do you know about cars, anyway?"

"Please, Sam! What'd you think I did the whole time I was chillin' on Earth? _Literally_ keep my head buried under some sand?"

Sam took his eyes off the road to stare hard at Gabriel. He didn't have to stare long before Gabriel fidgeted nervously, no longer looking at him but at the road. Sam reluctantly drug his eyes back to where they belonged.

"Okay, fine," Gabriel amended. "I read the ass end of your car. Like I mentioned: Irony. Kinda stuck out at me."

"Mm-hmm," was all Sam replied.

They slipped into a somewhat companionable silence. Probably more so on Gabriel's part, considering how relaxed he seemed to be, thumb drumming on his thigh to some internal music of his. Sam, on the other hand, was still trying to tell his mind and body to stop acting like hair attracted to static any time his attention drifted over to the other. Which was, on average, every two seconds.

The supermarket came into view soon enough.

Lebanon wasn't heavily populated, a little over two hundred people overall, and, because of this, stores a lot of Americans took for granted didn't even bother to set up shop. So, Sam did most of his shopping here. Prices were a little more expensive, but nothing that would make a person furl their greedy, little nose up in distaste. Plus, hey, support the local businesses.

Sam turned into the parking lot and found a spot near the door. Not really that hard to do, considering the 'parking lot' was merely a few designated spots beside the curb.

He put the car in park, turned it off, unbuckled his seat belt, looked at Gabriel, and then frowned at the raised eyebrow directed towards the small store.

"What?" He questioned.

"I got the feeling we were in the sticks from the scenery, but really? _That's it_?"

Sam smiled mockingly as he opened his door, "Yeah, Gabriel. That's it."

Gabriel exited the vehicle shortly after him. Sam continued to watch him, smirk still in place at the slight distaste on the Archangel's face. If Sam hazard to guess, Gabriel probably assumed that the store wouldn't even carry popcorn. Or it didn't have his favorite brand. Did Gabriel even have a favorite brand? Did he just conjure everything he ate?

Sam frowned as he realized he was spending way too much mental energy contemplating Gabriel's eating habits. Yeah. Yeah, he had it bad. All hope was lost. Add another tally to the self-loathing list.

The bell jingled above the door as Gabriel pushed it open. Sam stepped in behind him and then smiled pleasantly at a young employee who welcomed them. It was a bit of an unspoken rule to be polite to everyone in the small town, Sam had learned. Naturally, Gabriel didn't even glance in the girl's direction.

"Wow," the Archangel muttered, walking further into the store. "Bell and everything. I'm starting to wonder if I walked back into my own TV Land. You sure this isn't Mayberry?"

"Why are you so cynical in a _store_, of all places?" Sam questioned as Gabriel glanced quickly at the signs over the aisles. "What did the store ever do to you?"

Gabriel glanced at him from over his shoulder, unamused, and then began to walk towards the snacks.

"It's small. Cramped. Not that many people here. I don't like it."

"Okay, well, if our goal is to avoid detection... Isn't this the idle place to be?"

"No," Gabriel replied easily. "By themselves, and given the current state of affairs, angels are going to wait until their target is isolated. Close quarters... Hardly any humans in the area..."

Sam nodded, eyes scanning the shelves, "Harder to run and hide."

"Yahtzee! Besides, I'm having flashbacks of a certain convenient store I ran into not too long ago. Well, 'me.' It was an illusion of me, but, same thing."

Sam's brow furrowed. Gabriel was in Holy Fire until... Oh. Right. Cas mentioned Metatron using Gabriel to convince him to do...exactly what he was currently doing.

That was still something Sam didn't understand the logic of. But, hey, maybe Cas had an ace up his sleeve. He hoped Cas had an ace up his sleeve. He really didn't want to know what would happen if his friend played the role assigned to him to a T.

"Why did Metatron have you use a _convenience store_ to convince Castiel to work for him? That sounds..."

"Odd? Weird? A handful more synonyms one could think of to describe that dickbag?"

"...Basically, yeah."

"For all the reasons I criticized this place. Ooh!"

Spotting his prize, Gabriel sped towards the very small selection of microwaveable popcorn on the middle shelf. The Archangel didn't even pause to contemplate which flavor he wanted. He snatched the extra butter one and spun on his heel to go back towards the registers. Sam jerked a little when he noticed he'd have to move because Gabriel wasn't stopping. He frowned at the other and then followed.

"I'm going to go out on a limb," Sam began, "and say there was an ambush?"

"Yup. Metatron's plan was to have me sacrifice myself to spur Castiel into leading the angels. After an emotional parting scene worthy of _Star Wars_, I might add. Which...wasn't as emotional as planned. Castiel ad-libbed a little."

"He hugged you didn't he?" Sam smirked.

Gabriel stopped walking in the middle of the store to frown suspiciously at him. Sam paused beside him, looking down at him innocently.

"Okay, I know you could make the logical leap about the ambush thing, but how'd you figure _that_ out?"

Sam smiled, "I may or may not have planted the idea in his head that it's okay to hug people you care about."

Gabriel nodded slowly, mouth slightly open and brows knitted together. Then, he shook his head and continued on his way. Sam tried not to grin.

"You're freaked out that he cares about you enough to hug you, aren't you?" He teased.

"There you go with the psychoanalyzing thing again. I'm about to take the bond and shove it up your ass if you don't quit," Gabriel grouched.

"Not sure it works that way," Sam continued, devilishly enjoying himself.

Gabriel placed the popcorn firmly on the counter, clearly growing more agitated. He gave the cashier a false smile and nod when he asked if that's all they needed, then he turned to glare at Sam.

Oh, yes, Sam had hit a nerve. He was hitting a lot of nerves. Intentionally, of course. Because not only was it fun to taunt Gabriel with his own feelings but it was also relieving to realize he had them. Not because Sam ever thought angels were incapable of feeling anything. He knew they were, even if their emotions weren't portrayed in a way humans - or his brother - were used to. No, Sam was testing to see if Gabriel still had that softness, that vulnerability, the Grace had displayed him to have. And he _did._

Now if only Sam could get him to realize that wasn't a _bad_ thing. That he didn't have to be a fucking asshole 24-7 to protect himself.

Sam was quite well aware that he was aiming for the moon.

The cashier read them their total, and Gabriel happily informed the guy that Sam was paying. Then, he walked out of the store as if there wasn't a care in the world. Sam scoffed, still trying not to grin. It was cute how the Archangel thought something that cost less than five dollars was going to anger him.

Sam paid for the popcorn. When he left the store, Gabriel was sitting in the passenger seat. He didn't look at Sam as he approached the car. He simply continued to glare out the window.

Five minutes into the ride home, Gabriel finally spoke.

"I'm worried about him," he admitted quietly.

Sam frowned, "Who? Cas?"

"He has no idea what he's doing," Gabriel elaborated. "And that's what Metatron's banking on. He's playing right into his hand. Again."

Sam sighed, "Maybe not. You said he broke Metatron's script before. You said he ad-libbed. Maybe he can do that again?"

"He only fully broke it because I left a hint."

"Leave another one?" Sam suggested, glancing at Gabriel.

Gabriel scoffed, "So, what? I'm just supposed to spread bread crumbs around for all the little dodos? Hope they don't get picked off by the asshats with the guns?"

Sam's lips twitched, "Well, if you don't want the dodos to go extinct, then I'd say yeah. Yeah, the bread crumbs are a good idea. Look, I know you're not used to, I don't know, being an _older_ brother, or whatever, but you've already warned Castiel once. Even if it was a bit unorthodox. And you flat-out told Dean about the Mark.

"It's not _that_ hard to help stop something catastrophic from happening. Not as hard as you think it is, anyway."

Sam frowned, mood spoiled.

"Even if... Even if Dean - the Mark - can't be stopped... You still tried to help."

A long silence filled the car.

Sam was uncomfortable, his thoughts dragged back to the situation with his brother. He wanted to help Dean, he wanted to get rid of that damned brand on his arm, but he didn't know how. He was stuck with this overwhelming need to act. Now. Right now. But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything but wait until an answer to the problem was found. And what if that took too long?

The only thing that helped relieve some of his worry was the assurance of Gabriel that the purifying ritual should work if the worst happened. And Sam did everything in his power to mute the negativity bouncing around in the back of his mind that kept reminding him of just how shaky the word 'should' was.

"There's no guarantee Cain will remove the Mark. No guarantee that he can," Gabriel stated somberly. "I don't see why my brother would allow his special toys to be free of him."

Sam let out a shaky breath, coming to a stop at a red light.

"So, Dean's screwed. We _are_ playing a waiting game."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Gabriel's voice wasn't as defeated as Sam felt. "We try what we can first. If Cain's a bust, I got another idea."

"What? Chop his arm off?" Sam bit, more upset at feeling helpless than anything else.

Gabriel didn't have the class to not snort in amusement. Oddly, that didn't offend Sam at all. Maybe he was just too used to dark humor.

"Don't think that'd work, kiddo, but at least you're thinkin'. No, there was something Gadreel said to your brother."

Sam tapped his thumb against the steering wheel nervously. Gabriel was mentioning something Gadreel had said again. Sam was starting to worry about just how much Gabriel had learned about what had happened when he was possessed.

He wasn't too thrilled about the idea. Not right now. Not when that...trauma was so close to the surface. Not when he wasn't sure how much he trusted Gabriel with.

However, it wasn't like he could just take back whatever memories Gabriel had come across away from the Archangel.

"What did he say?" Sam dared to ask, resentful that he was even curious.

"Change the sigil, change the spell."

The light turned green and Sam drove forward. Gabriel's words echoed in his mind. Gadreel's words, he should say. He remembered them now. When Gadreel had revealed how Dean's plan had been foiled almost as soon as it had begun.

"Alter the Mark?" Sam tried to clarify. "You think that'll work?"

Gabriel shrugged, the bag his popcorn was in crinkled in his lap.

"Again: _Maybe_. Hell, in case you haven't noticed, most of my brilliant ideas are based around the word 'maybe.' I'm not stronger than Lucifer, Sam. Never was. Definitely not now. I don't even know the specifics of the spell he used to create that damn thing. So, there's no way I can wipe it clean. But I might could figure out a way to change it. ...Don't think your brother'll like that idea too much, though."

"Why not?"

"The Mark's branded his soul, not just his arm."

Sam nodded. He understood what Gabriel was implying. To change the mark on Dean's soul, Gabriel would have to touch it. Alter it, similar to how the Mark was now, only with a different endgame, Sam imagined.

Yeah, Dean couldn't stand the idea of Gabriel getting in his personal space. He highly doubted his brother would approve of Gabriel getting near his soul. However, with his _soul_ on the line, maybe Dean would come around.

Hopefully, he'd come around.

"I'll tell Dean," Sam said. "Whenever he gets back."

Gabriel didn't reply, yet Sam didn't miss the contemplative look he gave him.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Sam was thinking too much about everything to speak.

If they could get Cain to take back the Mark, then everything would be fine. But, nothing ever went _fine_ for a Winchester. Then there was Gabriel's idea to alter the Mark. In theory, it wasn't too bad. If that didn't work, they'd have to do the cure thing after the fact and... Sam really didn't want to go there. He knew Dean wouldn't want to either.

Before they could do any of that, they'd have to take out Abaddon. To do that, Crowley would have to pull the Blade from his ass and hand it over.

The topic of Crowley made his blood boil.

This was all the demon's fault. Okay, not all, but most of it. Dean wouldn't have gone after the Blade so readily if he hadn't had the new fucking devil whispering in his ear every step of the way.

They should have done away with him a long time ago.

Sam should have been able to close the Gates of Hell to begin with.

Why did everything always fall apart?

When they arrived at the Bunker, Sam parked the car in the garage - where it had sat before they left. The Impala hadn't been parked in front of the door, and it wasn't in the garage, so Sam knew Dean wasn't back yet. He hadn't expected him to be, in all honesty, but he'd kind of wished he would be. He'd like to get the discussion regarding his brother's fate out of the way, and maybe give him a little hope in the process.

Gabriel was following him as they entered the foyer. Sam could hear him spinning his popcorn around with the bag, as if it were a sling.

"Too bad you don't have a way to play the DVDs with the projector," Gabriel remarked. "No offense, Sam, but your TV kinda - "

Gabriel gasped sharply. Sam stopped walking and turned to face him.

He saw the glow in the Archangel's eyes first. Gabriel's brow furrowed as he grimaced. The popcorn went flying. Sam didn't see where. It didn't matter. Because Gabriel's knees were buckling under him.

Sam rushed towards him to catch him - to do _something_. He barely registered the warmth and feel of Gabriel's shoulder beneath his palm before that feeling was replaced by intense pain.

He didn't feel himself be thrown back, but he did feel when he hit the ground. It didn't hurt so much as it jarred him. All of him felt numb. The room was spinning. It took him a few seconds to realize it was only metaphorically spinning.

Gabriel was in pain. He could hear him.

Sam struggled to right himself, to roll over and bring himself to his feet. He struggled to focus on the Archangel - who was on his knees as he clutched desperately to the table.

But the _sound._

It wasn't just pounding on the inside of his skull but around the room, too. Lights were flickering, exploding, the machines on the wall sparked. The alarm may have been going off; he wouldn't have been able to hear it if it was.

Sam couldn't call out to him. His jaw was clenched too tight. All he could do was crawl towards Gabriel. He was only a few feet away, but it felt like so much farther. And every inch he came closer just made his mind hurt worse.

He could almost see them. Gabriel's wings. Shocks of energy flapping erratically behind the Archangel. But they weren't really there. Tricks of the light. Tricks of his mind.

Gabriel was screaming so loud, even though his mouth was shut tight in a pained grimace. It was an eerie effect.

Gabriel collapsed just before Sam reached him. The screaming stopped, replaced by a more tolerable hissing static - a white noise that Sam couldn't tell the source of.

He'd thought Gabriel had passed out, but the angel tensed under his hand as Sam grabbed a hold of his shoulder again.

This time, there was no pain; he didn't go flying.

Sam, as gently as he could, fitted an arm underneath Gabriel and rolled him so that he was on his back in Sam's arms.

Gabriel's eyes locked onto his. The glow was still there, burning in the center of his pupils. He was gasping for air between clenched teeth as he clutched at Sam's arm with his left hand.

He _writhed _in Sam's arms, he _whimpered_, and that sight was far more terrifying than whatever had happened scant seconds ago.

With a final whine - an angelic whine - Gabriel went limp, his head lolling back as his hand slipped from Sam's shirt.

"Gabe. Gabriel!" Sam shouted in fear.

He brought his hand up to cup Gabriel's face. The Archangel didn't respond. Not even when Sam tried to jostle him. But he was warm, abnormally warm, and Sam knew he'd been here before.

The angel siren had been activated again. 'Gabriel's Horn.'

"Shit," Sam swore, bringing Gabriel up so he could clutch at him just as tightly as the Archangel had him.

Sam was shaking. He hadn't noticed before, too terrified for Gabriel, but now he could feel the small tremors wracking his body. His heart was pounding. His ears - his mind - still buzzed.

He wasn't used to this. Nerves were one thing, but this was different. This was worse than what he'd felt in the storage shed. He _knew_ what this was.

The warning siren of the Bunker quieted. Probably half the lights had gone out completely - shattered by the sound of an angel's true voice. The half-darkness of the room didn't help him calm down any.

Sam needed help. He couldn't help Gabriel on his own.

Cas was out of the picture. Even if he wasn't, he didn't have the strength to heal Gabriel. Sam might be able to help, as he had before, but that required more dream walking.

He didn't feel safe enough to just conk out while Dean was still gone. He was paranoid about the timing of Gabriel's attack. He was also worried that something would happen to Dean while he was out.

Frantically, Sam shuffled Gabriel so he could reach into his pocket for his phone. He had to call Dean. They had to come up with something. If Dean wasn't too engrossed with his booze to answer his damn phone.

Sam pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. A chill ran through his body. The screen was cracked. He quickly spammed the on button, all the buttons, to try and get it to come on. It wouldn't.

"Shit!" He swore again, panic bleeding into rage.

He tossed the phone to the floor and shifted Gabriel into a bridal hold. He didn't have the time nor patience to fuck with a broken phone. They had spares. One might be in the top drawer of his bedside table. He thought he remembered putting an old one in there.

Wherever one was, he'd find it. First thing was first, though.

He stood up, cringing a little at the forming bruise on his hip. The numbness was fading from his body, though his legs still felt shaky. He ignored that. Instead, he focused on getting Gabriel to his room.

Gabriel was unresponsive. Before, in the storage shed, Gabriel had at least been able to look at him, if only for a second. Now...

When he reached his room, Sam had to bend down to open his door or risk dropping Gabriel. He pushed forward with his shoulder and situated the Archangel on his bed, taking care to position him comfortably, even in his haste.

Gabriel hadn't started sweating yet. Sam placed the back of his hand against Gabriel's forehead. He wasn't nearly as hot as Sam knew he could get during whatever the siren was doing to him. At least that was a plus. For now.

His spare phone _was_ in the top drawer of his bedside table. Be thankful for small miracles, he told himself. Even if the rest of his world was falling to shit.

He dialed Dean's number. The line rang and rang as he paced around his bed, glancing so often at Gabriel that he may as well have not been taking his eyes off him.

His brother didn't answer the first time. He didn't answer on the second, third, or fourth times, either. The fifth consecutive dial was pressed with so much force that Sam was sure he'd break the phone if a six time was needed. He really didn't care.

On the third ring, Dean answered with a very gruff, "What!"

"Get your ass back here. _Now_," Sam demanded. "Something's wrong with Gabriel. It's the angel siren."

"And I care why?" Dean bit, frustration mirroring Sam's.

Sam inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and remembered to count to ten.

Dean was dealing with his own thing. Dean didn't know the severity of what was going on with Gabriel. Dean had selective empathy. He needed Dean to come to the Bunker and watch his back. He did _not_ need to exacerbate the situation by yelling at Dean to stow his crap, no matter how much his nerves were frayed.

"Dean," Sam replied calmly, picking a spot on the wall and staring intently at it, "I understand. I do. And I'd love to give you your space right now. But Gabriel is being attacked. I have to help him. I can't do that unless you're here. I need you _here_."

His brother was silent for a few seconds.

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever," he mumbled, defeated. "I'll be there in a minute. Does asshat need anything?"

Sam frowned, glancing at Gabriel for the umpteenth time. He looked like he was merely sleeping, though whatever pain he was feeling left a small frown on his face. Sam hoped he wouldn't get as bad as he had last time. He wasn't in Holy Fire this time. That had to be good, right?

"No," he replied.

There wasn't anything Dean could get, to his knowledge, that would help Gabriel's condition.

"But I need sleeping pills."

"What? Why?" Dean asked, genuinely confused.

Sam could hear him mutter something to someone else. The sound of others in the background.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the chair beside the bed on the other side of the room. His gaze resettled on Gabriel. Sam'd stopped shaking but he found his leg bouncing up and down. He didn't feel like making it stop.

He hesitated a second before telling Dean, "I'm going to dream walk again. Or try."

"Sam," Dean warned.

"I know," he sighed. "I said stopping the powers was...the best thing, but. Last time I did it, he said I helped strengthen him. And he'll need that again."

The Impala's engine roared to life as Dean growled, "Is there seriously nothing else you can do? I don't think -"

"No," Sam interrupted. "Just...no. Not in time."

Dean reluctantly submitted to Sam's plan. They hung up.

Sam spent his time waiting staring at Gabriel. He was probably being creepy. Yeah, he was definitely being creepy. But it wasn't like he had anything else to do until Dean arrived, and he needed to keep an eye on Gabriel's condition, anyway.

For some stupid reason, he'd thought they'd gotten past this - Metatron using the siren. They'd captured Gadreel for using it; Dean'd beat the shit out of him. Sam supposed he thought Metatron would have decided not to put his second-in-command in harm's way again. He'd thought wrong.

Maybe this was retribution. Maybe Metatron had figured out Gabriel was gone. How couldn't he? And what better way to twist the knife in a guy he couldn't reach with his own hands?

God, Sam hoped that wasn't the case. If Metatron started playing _extremely_ dirty...

Sam dropped his face into his hands, scrubbing it in frustration. They were going to have to find him. Get to him faster. Gabriel had told them who could lead them in the right direction.

Sam hated the idea. It made his skin crawl just as much as it had watching Gabriel writhe in his arms. But what choice did he have?

When Dean entered the room, Sam jumped. He mentally berated himself for it.

"Jumpy much?" Dean asked.

Sam looked over at him, a frown in place, and instinctively caught the pill box flying for his head. He turned the box in his hand to read the label.

"ZzzQuil? Really?" He questioned, giving Dean a look.

"Hey! I've seen what NyQuil can do, okay? Why_ not_ go for the 'official' sleeping version of it?" Dean shrugged, "I mean, I guess I coulda tracked down some roofies, but..."

"Yeah, no," Sam smiled briefly and shook the box, "this's fine. Thanks."

He rose from his chair and took the Coke Dean was offering him. He placed it under his arm as he worked on getting the pills open. Bottle would've been easier, but whatever.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Dean asked. When Sam glanced up at him, he was all but glaring down at Gabriel.

"I'll be fine, Dean."

"Will you? Last time I checked you weren't Charles Xavier."

Sam's brow furrowed as he popped two gel capsules from their plastic.

"He didn't really dream walk. He was just telepathic."

"You know what I mean!"

Sam swallowed the pills, recapped the Coke, and set in his chair. He didn't bother to continue whatever argument Dean was pursuing. He understood Dean was worried, he knew why, but Sam also knew he'd done this before and come out just fine. Dean knew it, too. Instead, Sam took two small steps to his bed and carefully laid himself down next to Gabriel.

It was an awkward arrangement. For one, it wasn't like he'd placed Gabriel right next to the edge of the bed. For another, his bed wasn't really all that big. Not when he was big, too. Sam tried to ignore how smushed he felt, his entire right side pressed against Gabriel's left.

Dean was silent for all of two seconds after Sam closed his eyes to try and relax.

"Aw, aren't you two just precious," he teased, chair creaking as he sat down in it. "I'm going to vomit."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam commanded easily.

Sam didn't know how much time passed before he finally felt the pills take effect. All he knew was that Gabriel's warmth was something he probably wasn't going to get used to, and feeling Dean staring at him the entire time was really fucking uncomfortable.

* * *

**A/N: Psst, review. No, seriously. I don't know how many of you know this, but feedback helps authors. In the very least, it keeps them going. Even if you just leave a smiley face. ...Which I've encountered before. Kudos to that one random smiley face.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **There were a surprising amount of you that left smiley faces. Well played.

* * *

Sam came to in white.

The floor, the walls, and, when he tilted his head to look, even the sky was white.

The space wasn't empty, though. Not all of it.

The floor was some sort of polished stone. Well, it was smooth and hard like polished stone, but there were no imperfections in it. No differentiations of color or chips. Just white. And _warm_. His skin squeaked when he drug his palm across it.

The walls weren't walls so much as pillars. They were made of the same material as the floor. A hazy whiteness spread in all directions beyond them.

Sam pushed himself slowly to his hands and knees, glancing around at the empty space behind the columns.

He couldn't tell if the fog continued forever or if anything was inside it. He even wondered if it was there at all. He got the impression he was looking at nothing. Not _space, _as he'd thought, but _emptiness_. A concept he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around. Humans never really encountered _emptiness_.

The sparsely-spaced columns stretched upward, dissolving after a certain point. They were blank. No particular style of architecture. Just...cylindrical, thick matter reaching into the heavens. As if they were meant to serve a purpose and only that. It didn't matter if they looked ornate. All that mattered was that they were there. In theory, anyway. Sam couldn't comprehend why _emptiness_ needed to be held up. _Or_ back.

Speaking of that emptiness, it made no sense to Sam. Light was coming from somewhere, wasn't it? Where? No Sun. Stars. Torches. ...Fluorescent lights. The rules of physics must have shrugged when this was made.

Sam got to his feet and looked over his shoulder behind him. The floor stretched out into the horizon. Sam couldn't see how far. It didn't feel like it dissolved, though. Not like the rest of this place.

"O-_kay_..." He drawled, confused as to where he was.

He tried to remember what he was doing, but his memory was in about the same shape as the area. Blank. He knew he was doing something important, though, and that time was of the essence. Now, if only he could remember _why_.

Sam finally looked in front of him again.

He gave a stuttered gasp and nearly jumped out of his skin.

A being stood in front of him. One that was remarkably tall and not human. Obviously. Four arms, six wings, and being made of light kind of hinted at that. Its skin and wings looked as if they were made from ice, and they refracted the light like a prism. Blinding and beautiful and _deadly_.

Fear crept up Sam's spine. It made the hair on his neck and arms stand on end.

He knew this being. He knew _him_. The _angel_ that now tilted his head, pointed halo following its movement, as he stared down at Sam. His face looked so much like Sam's that it was uncanny.

Horrifying.

Sam took an involuntary step back from Lucifer, and then another. Lucifer watched.

This wasn't the Cage. Lucifer shouldn't be here. This made no sense. Why was Lucifer here? Why did he look so much smaller than Sam remembered him as? Why did he look _whole?_

The look on Lucifer's face shifted from passive to aggressive, brow furrowing as his lips turned downward. The very air around him seemed to shift. It grew colder. A warning. Lucifer was tense, upset, and even space bent to his will to show it. Such was the power of an Archangel. Even one as fallen as Lucifer.

Sam almost stumbled as he continued to walk backwards, nearly jogging now. He was trying to keep his breath calm, trying not to show weakness in front of an angel that despised it.

He was failing. He knew that. And he knew Lucifer could see right through him.

Sam was too afraid to turn and run. Turning meant he'd expose his back to Lucifer. Not only would the Archangel see that as an insult, but he'd use that moment to strike. Contrary to the false promises he used to preach to Sam, Lucifer wasn't an honorable being. He preyed on the weak like any predator. No, to fight him, you had to face him.

Sad thing was: Sam was in no position to fight an Archangel. Not like this.

_"You shouldn't have come here,"_ Lucifer hissed, his true voice like the faint rumble at the start of an avalanche.

Feathers clinked together as he began to spread his wings, impossible light sending all sorts of colors streaking through them and around the room. Sure, they moved as if they were natural feathers, but Sam knew they were sharp as knives. Lucifer wasn't against using them as weapons.

He was threatening Sam.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Sam breathed.

Fuck it, he thought. Lucifer was going to attack him anyway. He didn't need to play it safe.

If he wanted to live, he _shouldn't_ play it safe.

Sam spun on his heels and sprinted down the long hallway. He had no idea where the hell he was going, and he didn't care. All that mattered was that he get there.

Lucifer roared behind him, shaking everything, and Sam's stomach dropped. The Archangel's melodious flight echoed around the hall, bouncing off the pillars Sam was passing, and only served to fill Sam with an even greater sense of dread and inevitability.

_"I gave you your chance!"_ Lucifer's voice boomed, disturbingly close. _"And you betrayed me!"_

No, he hadn't. He'd done no such thing. There was never a choice when it came to Lucifer. Never. He only wanted one answer: Yes. An answer that Sam couldn't give him. That wasn't betrayal! He didn't deserve this!

Sam cried out as Lucifer crashed onto the ground in front of him, face twisted in anger. Sam's foot slipped out from under him, causing him to land hard on his rear. He grunted, more from the air rushing out of him than pain.

Lucifer crouched down, wings still spread, to crawl towards him menacingly. He _stalked_ towards Sam, languid and focused. His teeth were bared, and Sam wondered how the Archangel could ever question why people considered him a monster. He may have been angry, but he was taking his time with this punishment. Sam would _fear_ him if he did not _love_ him.

Sam scrambled to try and crawl away from him.

_"You chose _him_ over _me_," _Lucifer seethed. _"Why? He doesn't even love you! He only cares what _Daddy_ thinks!"_

Sam managed to get to his feet and took off for a nearby column.

He wanted to get away. He wanted to put something between him and the Archangel. Even if that something was a thin pillar of stone that, Sam logically knew, wouldn't protect him from anything.

Lucifer growled. That was the only warning Sam received before he was hit.

He didn't see what hit him, whether it was Lucifer's arms or wings, and it didn't matter. His feet left the floor and he was sent flying.

His world spun as he bounced off the pillar he'd been aiming for, like a ragdoll. His neck snapped back so fast he worried it would snap. But, it didn't. Miraculously. And neither did his spine, though pain radiated from the middle of his back where he'd hit.

Winded and in pain, he forced himself up off the floor. He might've not been able to breathe, and his vision was nothing but spinning white, but he _could_ drag himself behind the column.

And, as he'd known, the measly piece of architecture wasn't enough to give Lucifer much pause.

The Archangel sped around it with a thunderous crawl and then glared down at Sam in rage.

Lucifer very rarely let his anger show on the surface. Sam remembered that. Lucifer was cold and cruel. Detached in such a way that it was easy to mistake him as uncaring. Flippant, even. But this? This was wrath akin to Michael's. Passionate and intense. The difference only intensified Sam's fear of the Archangel. Whatever did he do to invoke such a change?

Lucifer was right: He should never have come here.

_"I took care of you and _this_ is how you repay me!"_

Sam opened his mouth to refute Lucifer's claims. Lucifer had most definitely _not_ taken care of him. He'd controlled him like a puppet. Hurt people and played it off as revenge. They deserved it, he'd said. But had they really? Sam didn't think so.

This time, Sam _did_ get to see what Lucifer smacked him with. He cringed and drew himself into a ball, futilely trying to protect himself, before Lucifer took both of his mighty right arms and swept him and the stone aside like they were nothing.

Sam's scream was lost somewhere among the overpowering sound of exploding rock. He tumbled through space and into the empty fog that served as the walls.

Once it enveloped his vision, it ceased to exist. All of the white vanished so fast, replaced by infinite darkness, that Sam was pretty sure he'd stopped existing himself.

Only, that couldn't be right. He was still tumbling through the air, or whatever constituted as air in this place. He could feel every twisting movement of his body. God, but he hurt! If he hadn't stopped being, maybe he'd just gone blind?

But, no, that wasn't the answer either. He could see little pinpricks of light and vague shapes, he realized. He didn't know what they were, but he really wished they'd stop spinning.

He really wished_ he_ would stop spinning.

He did...when he hit the ground.

_Hard_.

A pained shout punched its way out of chest as he landed onto his front with a small bounce. By all means, the arm that'd been trapped under him should've broken, but it didn't. Sam couldn't even muster the strength to question why. He didn't even have the strength to be fearful of Lucifer anymore. Even when the Archangel landed near him, shaking whatever solid surface Sam was currently lying on.

"Go away," Sam wheezed, surprised the familiar taste of copper wasn't on his tongue.

Naturally, Lucifer didn't listen. He stalked over to Sam and grabbed a hold of him as if he were a toy.

Sam grunted as he was forced onto his knees and turned, head held by his chin in Lucifer's cold grip, so that he was facing a handful of angels pinned to a black wall by wicked chains. He hazily wondered if those were the pinpricks of light he'd seen before. Somehow, that black wall was darker than the darkness around them.

_"Look at them_," Lucifer practically purred in his ear. _"They were flawed. Brokenness deserves punishment. But I'm not broken..."_

Sam wanted to disagree.

He didn't know what he was looking at, or who. These angels were different from Lucifer. Some had four wings, others two. They varied in size. Their halos were unique, though some shared designs with others. Different ranks, he imagined. Different branches of the species. All of them were miserable.

One of the angels, the largest, with Grace bleeding from a wound in his stomach, looked up at him with cold and dangerous eyes. He knew Sam, but Sam didn't know him. At least, Sam thought he didn't. Familiarity nagged at the back of his mind. That face...

Either way, it didn't matter. He might not be able to judge what the angels before him had done, but he knew what Lucifer did.

_"And yet you would have me join them!"_

Yes.

No.

He deserved worse. He'd screwed everything up. He needed to be caged. Separated from anyone he could ever hurt. He'd fallen too far to be saved. He didn't _want_ to be saved. And he would take everyone down with him in his torment. That couldn't be allowed to happen!

That wasn't fair. He loved him. Why was Lucifer doing this? Why incur God's wrath? Why anger Michael?

Something was wrong. Those weren't his thoughts. He didn't love Lucifer, he loathed him.

Why did he turn on him so easily? Why were they fighting? Why _hurt?_

The volume of his warring thoughts grew louder in his mind. Something was definitely wrong. His head hurt. It felt like it was ripping. He shut his eyes tight and tried to ignore the rising screech in his head. He couldn't.

Sam was thrown to the ground harshly. Lucifer was shouting at him. Ranting about the great injustice he was being put through. Boohoo, Sam wanted to say.

"Daddy was mean to me, so I'm going to smash up all his toys," a voice not his own mocked Lucifer with his own lips.

Get out, Sam thought. Separate. Get out of this body. It's not yours. Out, out, out!

A screech rent the air. Sam jerked in fright, eyes flying open.

He was immediately blinded by the whiteness that surrounded him. They were back in the white hall, apparently. He mentally swore at the ever-shifting dreamscape he was in.

Blinking rapidly, Sam eventually was able to focus on what was in front of him.

Lucifer was leaning over a pale-yellow angel with four wings, light dancing along them - or in them - as if it were bouncing off water. A spear of ice was in Lucifer's hand. It had run through Gabriel's chest, pinning him to the floor.

Sam knew that's who it was on the ground. He remembered his true form from before. And he remembered, now, just where he was and what he was trying to do.

Gabriel clawed pathetically at the weapon holding him down. He squirmed as his wings flapped lethargically. Lucifer didn't seem to care. He was merciless in his execution. He was merciless in everything he did, though he would often claim otherwise.

Sam could see Gabriel's pain and fear, he could feel it permeating the air, but he was frozen in place, on his hands and knees yards away. Because he didn't know how much strength he had here. He remembered how he'd accidentally injured Gabriel's Grace - in a situation not unlike the one now - and he feared Gabriel might do the same to him. That he might lash out in distress and somehow destroy Sam's psyche. He was, after all, far stronger than Sam was on a psychic level.

However, he couldn't leave Gabriel the way he was.

Sam struggled with himself, eyes flicking between the two Archangels.

_"Don't forget," _Lucifer purred,_ "you learned all your tricks from me, little brother."_

The words echoed in Sam's mind. He'd never heard them before, but it felt like he had. It was bleed over, he realized. It had to be. Gabriel had heard them, remembered their deadly taunt, and now they were being projected at Sam. It only made sense that way.

Gabriel screamed as Lucifer twisted his spear. He arched off the floor, wings flailing, as flame consumed him. Flame like Holy Fire. Fire that had tormented Gabriel for weeks. Fire that he was afraid of.

Sam finally pushed himself to his feet and sprinted for him. To hell with Lucifer and to hell with the danger. He wouldn't let Gabriel relive that nightmare. Not now that he knew what it meant.

Lucifer vanished, dissolving like one of Gabriel's illusions. The spear shifted, morphing from ice into glowing light. It originated from Gabriel's chest and stretched upward, tapering off into nothing.

That light was Gabriel's Grace, being syphoned off of him by the angel siren. That light was the thing Sam dove for, barely dodging one of Gabriel's large wings as it flailed.

Sam grunted when he landed on the Archangel's torso, quickly repositioning himself so he could place his hands over the hole in Gabriel's chest. His hands blocked the light for all of two seconds before Gabriel bucked again and roared. Sam clambered for purchase.

Gabriel's true form was big. Even though he'd been much larger in Sam's dream, in Gabriel's he was still big. Sam was barely longer than his upper body, and Gabriel's panicked, pained twisting wasn't that far off from riding a mechanical bull.

A mechanical bull that was on fire.

The flames weren't burning Sam. They were warm, yes, and they kept screwing up his vision every time he opened his eyes, but he wasn't feeling the unfortunately-familiar sensation of his flesh burning away. Thankfully. Because, if he had been, it would've been a lot more difficult to concentrate on what he was doing.

"Gabriel!" Sam shouted to him.

He flinched and grunted as one of the Archangel's hands swatted him.

Gabriel retracted the hand immediately, giving a confused wail as his head snapped back in agony.

Sam wondered if he'd been trying to grab his wound. After all, if he'd been trying to remove Sam, he would have swiped at him again. But he didn't. Instead, he clawed at the ground. Sam hoped that meant Gabriel understood he wasn't trying to hurt him.

Sam had to stop the Grace from leaking out. Maybe, if he could manage that_ here_ then he could somehow cut the angel siren off _out there_. However, with Gabriel burning, there was no way the Archangel would stay still long enough for Sam to do that. Even if the flames weren't real, Gabriel thought they were. He had to make Gabriel think of something else, or...

Gabriel jerked backwards, using his wings to propel him a little bit into the air, and then crashed back onto the ground. Sam cringed as he slid forward from the momentum, forced up under Gabriel's chin. He clutched at the other's neck and tried to not fall off. If he fell off, and Gabriel rolled over on him, things would not end well.

Wait a minute... Wings! Wings like water. Water! Think about water!

"Gabriel!" Sam tried again, trying to make his voice heard over the noise the Archangel was making and the roaring inferno covering his body. "Gabriel, think about water! You're not on fire! You... You can't be on fire because you're made of water! Right? This is all a-a trick! Lucifer tricked you, and you know his tricks! They're not real! Think about water! Fuckin'.._.be_ the water!"

Gabriel wasn't listening. Or, if he was, he wasn't of the right mind to listen to the tiny, hairless ape posing as a necklace who was shouting in his ear.

So, Sam shut his eyes and thought about water for him. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. And Sam tried and tried again. He thought about waterfalls, ponds, lakes, swimming pools, even a tiny glass of water.

Nothing was working. Gabriel was still screaming. Sam was still grasping him for dear life...

So, Sam changed tactics.

Maybe it wasn't just enough that he had to think about water. Maybe he had to think of the water putting Gabriel out. Maybe he had to _feel_ the water put Gabriel out - make if _feel_ like the warmth covering his entire body wasn't there.

Sam thought of the time Dean decided it'd be a great idea to submerge him in an ice bath while unconscious. Jesus Christ, that had been a cold awakening...

And water as cold as ice covered Sam's entire body.

His eyes flew open, barely registering the familiar ceiling of his room, before he yelped and threw himself off his bed and towards the now-vacated chair beside it.

He was awake.

He was soaking wet and freezing.

He was aware that he shouldn't have been the latter while being the former.

"Jesus shit, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, voice high with stress, from somewhere behind him.

Sam looked over his right shoulder, eyes wide as he shivered, to spot Dean near the door. The action gave him an odd feeling of déjà vu.

His brother was staring at Sam like he didn't know what to make of him. Sam wasn't _entirely_ sure why he deserved that look, but he did have his suspicions.

A wet sputter drew Sam's attention to Gabriel.

The Archangel was in the process of rolling over onto his side, away from Sam. If he wasn't careful, he'd roll right off the bed.

Sam rushed around his just-as-soaked mattress to get a hold of Gabriel before he did something to hurt himself.

Gabriel flinched when Sam touched his shoulder, left arm grabbing Sam's right on instinct. Sam couldn't tell if he was shivering with cold or fear. His face did seem a bit panicked before his golden, dulled eyes locked onto Sam. With a blink, that expression was gone. His grip loosened a bit on Sam's arm, though he seemed to be having trouble keeping himself up.

Sam tried to pull him into a sitting position, but Gabriel meagerly shook his head and let himself fall back down onto the damp mattress. Sam frowned at him, wondering what was wrong. Gabriel blinked feebly, staring at the wall, as another shiver wracked his body.

"You mind explaining what the fuck just happened?" Dean barked.

Sam reluctantly drew his eyes from Gabriel to Dean.

Dean looked more concerned than angry. Only now did Sam realize part of Dean's front was splattered with water, too. He'd most likely gotten caught in whatever freaky shit Sam'd just pulled.

"U-uh," Sam stuttered eloquently.

He looked back down at Gabriel.

He did need to explain what happened. If he didn't, Dean would just go from worried to pissed, and that wasn't a mood shift any of them needed. Besides, Sam kinda wanted to talk to someone about what he'd seen and done. Someone who was just as clueless as he was. For therapeutic reasons more than anything.

However, he didn't want to leave Gabriel.

He'd have to if he talked to Dean. He didn't think Gabriel wanted a reminder of what he'd just went through.

But, if he left...

Sam closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. Leaning forward, he gave Gabriel's arm a quick squeeze, mumbled to him that he'd be back soon, and then motioned for Dean to walk outside with him. His brother followed without a word. Once in the hallway, Sam closed the door gently and looked at Dean with worry.

Dean gestured with his arms for Sam to explain.

Sam licked his bottom lip and stuttered, "He... He was having a nightmare."

"Okay. And that explains the water how?"

Sam shifted uneasily, "He was on fire..."

Dean frowned and shook his head. He didn't understand what Sam was getting at. Understandable, considering Sam wasn't doing a good job of just coming out and saying what had happened. But he didn't feel... Now that he thought about it, he didn't think Gabriel would appreciate it if he divulged all that he'd seen in the Archangel's dream. What had accidentally been projected at him. Well, _through_ him. He didn't really understand how the mind-melding thing worked, but he was coming to the conclusion boundaries had been crossed that shouldn't have been.

Besides, he felt he needed to talk to Gabriel to clear up the theories swirling around his head regarding the Archangel. If Gabriel was up to it...

No use in telling Dean about something he wasn't sure was right.

Taking a deep breath, Sam tried again, "Gabriel was on fire. In his dream. It was making him panic, and I needed to calm him down so I could try and stop his Grace from being taken and... I thought of water?"

"You thought of water?" Dean asked slowly, eyebrows raised.

Until a thought occurred to him, causing him to frown. He was aggravated. Sam knew why.

"You thought of water and it just fuckin' _appeared_ out of thin air, like a mirage, and splashed down soaking _everything_... _Outside_ the dream! Is that what you're tellin' me? Because I gotta tell ya, Sam - "

"I know!" Sam exclaimed. "Believe me, Dean, _I know._ But... I didn't mean to. I - "

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better," his brother bit. "Knowing that you could mojo _anything_ out of Wonderland at any time. What's next, Sam? The Red Queen screaming, 'Off with their heads!'"

Sam actually rolled his eyes at that.

"_No_. It doesn't... It doesn't work that way, okay?"

"And how would you know?"

"Because it's my head and I just do?" Sam half-asked.

He was talking out of his ass now, he knew. Dean had raised a good point. Sam _didn't_ know what was next. He'd never _materialized_ anything before. Never pulled something out of a dream.

No... No, that wasn't true. He'd been burned by Gabriel's Grace before. Not a bad burn, but enough to make him wear long sleeves until they went away. If that had been _his_ doing and not the Grace's... Well, fuck.

"Look, you have to trust me on this," Sam plunged onward, ignoring his own doubts. "I can't do anything like the water trick without trying _really_ hard. I'm not even sure I can do it again if I tried. I was under a lot of stress when I did it, so...

_"And_ I was connected to Gabriel. I've never done stuff like that _without_ being connected to him - "

"So, you're saying that happened because of Gabriel?" Dean snapped, arms folded across his chest.

Open mouth, insert foot. His brother was working his way towards livid, and Sam was aware he'd just given Dean a prime target to take out his frustrations on. Not good. Because it _hadn't_ been Gabriel. That wasn't what he'd meant at all. He'd meant to say that he, Sam, could only do that if drawing off the Archangel. At least, that was his theory. He hadn't meant that Gabriel was the cause.

"No," Sam replied calmly. "I guess I'm saying it was both of us? Together. Like, being in the same mind space. But I doubt it'll happen again if I just...stay out of his head."

"Oh, good. Then stay out of his head," Dean growled. "Not that hard, Sam."

Sam thinned his lips in frustration. Yes, it actually was pretty hard, considering he'd done it more than once. One time without him knowing it. Not that he was going to tell Dean that because, if the current conversation continued the way it'd been going, Sam was going to strangle someone. Someone named Dean.

"Yeah. Okay. Fine."

He paused for a moment to think, eyes picking a spot on the floor.

He still needed to help Gabriel. That's why he hadn't wanted to leave his room in the first place. The Archangel was weak. Because Sam hadn't managed to do what he'd set out to. He may have managed to stop Gabriel's pain, but he hadn't healed him. He hadn't given him that little jump start he'd been meaning to. And, though he desperately wished he could, that he could just hop right back into Gabriel's head and manipulate his Grace again...he was a little afraid to.

After all, he was _soaking wet_. Cold, too, but he was trying to ignore that. And Gabriel was in the same predicament Sam was in. All because of his uncontrollable powers. They weren't _completely_ uncontrollable, but there was still a risk of backfire. One Sam wouldn't take with Gabriel's Grace, an already reactive power. Worst case scenario? He'd blast them all to kingdom come.

Frankly, he was surprised he hadn't done that already.

He sighed and rolled his shoulders, causing his clothes to move uncomfortably across his skin. And he knew he wasn't the only one having to put up with that feeling.

He looked up at Dean and nodded once.

"Help me move Gabriel," he mumbled. "Get him out of his clothes."

Dean gave him a look. It wasn't a flat-out objection, but he didn't seem to like the command.

"He's too tired to do it on his own," Sam clarified.

His brother groaned, arms dropping to his sides as he rolled his eyes. Dean reluctantly followed behind him as they re-entered Sam's room.

Sam cringed a little at the sight of Gabriel. The Archangel hadn't moved. He'd stayed half-curled up on his side, staring blankly at the wall. As if he wasn't lying in a soggy mess. Sam caught the small tremble he was trying to hide.

He frowned as he walked over to Gabriel. Something was wrong, and he didn't think it was just the lethargy from having his Grace drained. No, he had a pretty good idea that what was wrong with Gabriel was mental. Especially with how Gabriel, though clearly aware of his surroundings, refused to look at either one of them.

When Sam pulled him up, he came easily. But there was a reluctance in his stance. In the sullen look on his face.

Sam bit his bottom lip as he looked up at Dean. His brother either didn't notice the mood Gabriel was in, or he didn't care. He was simply content to glare down at the Archangel. No sympathy from him, then. What else was new?

"Come on," Sam commanded gently, bringing Gabriel's right arm around his shoulders.

Gabriel staggered only once before he stood beside Sam. It was an awkward position, what with Sam being taller than him, but, since Dean deemed it okay to simply shadow them during their walk to a free, clean room, it was a position they had to work with. At least Dean had the curtesy to open the door for them.

Gabriel retained his silence as they helped him undress. He _did_ actually try to do that on his own, a tired, disgusted scowl on his face. The only real help he needed was getting his jacket off and his shoes. Dean helped remove the jacket. As for the shoes, Gabriel nearly toppled over when he bent down to untie them, grabbing onto Sam's shoulder when Sam quickly rushed for him. Gabriel grunted, part annoyed and part grateful, and Sam decided to remove the shoes himself. He removed the socks, too.

The pants were kicked off with the fervor of an angry child. Sam frowned at the display. He had to lean back to keep from getting smacked in the face. Taking pity on Gabriel, he soon grabbed the material that had already made it off the Archangel's legs and tugged it the rest of the way off. He rolled the wet pants the same way he did his own and placed them aside. When he looked back up, Gabriel was glaring.

Not at him, but the floor. Sam wasn't sure what was causing the ever-increasing foul mood. He had clues, of course. The vulnerability the Archangel was forced to deal with being the number one contender. But still...

Sam took a quick, and _innocent_, glance at Gabriel's boxers and, though they were damp, too, decided he'd let the other keep that shred of dignity. If he wanted them gone, he could remove them himself. Later. Probably when both Winchesters had left the room and were long gone. ...Unless Gabriel was completely stubborn, and then he'd probably just lie in bed with damp underwear because, hey!, why not?

Would it work for or against him if he offered Gabriel a spare pair of his own?

"Can you take your shirt off yourself?" Sam questioned gently.

Gabriel scoffed, rolling his eyes, but began to do just that.

"Oh, good," Dean quipped, making his way around the bed to pick up the discarded clothes pile near Sam. "Because you removing his pants for him was enough awkward for me for one day."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes as he chided, "_Dean_."

Gabriel's shirt made it over his head with a quiet _fwoomph. _Sam almost smirked at the way his hair stuck up at odd angles and clung to his face. Almost. For his attention quickly left the sight to fall on a discoloration on Gabriel's bare chest.

Sam inhaled sharply, not thinking to stop himself.

It was a scar. A white scar, located just below Gabriel's sternum, that was angrily jagged. Sam could make out the main shape of an angel blade within it.

Now he understood. He'd had a hunch, but Sam was finally seeing evidence of what had transpired between Gabriel and his older brother. He knew why Gabriel's dream had turned out the way it had.

Lucifer's taunting words echoed in his mind. The Archangel had been incredibly cruel. And God had deigned to leave the mark behind as a reminder. Some family...

Gabriel's eyes snapped up to meet Sam's. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes... They held a storm. One that dared Sam to say something. One that, perhaps, had been born out of fear that he would. Gabriel was feeling trapped again, on top of exposed, and he _would_ lash out to protect himself.

Sam said nothing. He held Gabriel's gaze and tried to impart the silent message that he meant no harm. Hell, he may have even turned up the puppy dog eyes just to relieve some of Gabriel's fear. 'Don't mind me, Gabriel, I'm just a bleeding heart.'

Dean hissed through his teeth, drawing a wide-eyed, worried stare from Sam. He saw the scar, too.

For a brief moment, Sam panicked. All it would take were a few crass words and Dean would ruin any chance they had at making even a shaky friendship with Gabriel.

Thankfully, Dean caught on. He glanced from Sam's stern warning back to the Archangel.

Gabriel slid his almost predatory glare to Dean. Even with his drenched appearance, his curved back, and hunched shoulders, he looked imposing. The same feeling of static Sam'd felt in the motel room a day ago tickled at his skin. Dean felt it, too. Sam could tell by the way he straightened his back.

Dean's lips twitched with a quick, nervous smile. He indicated the damp wad of Gabriel's clothes in his hand.

"I'm just going to go throw these in the laundry. What size do you wear? I'll go see if the Men of Letters had anything that'd fit ya."

Sam slowly let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. The static dissipated. Gabriel's glare lessened from a warning to something that was as judgmental as it was bored.

"Check the tags, genius," Gabriel replied coolly.

Dean actually blushed a little, looking from Gabriel to the clothes and then to Sam. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Right. I- Yeah, that was kinda... I'll be back later."

He frowned and shuffled out of the room, holding the dripping mess in his arms away from his body. Which wasn't really needed considering his front was already wet. Dean didn't shut the door. Not that that bothered Sam. He was going to have to leave to get changed anyway. Saved him the trouble of opening the door.

Sam turned his attention back to Gabriel. Gabriel, however, had already turned his attention away from Sam. He'd turned and was slipping under the covers with intent. That intent was to ignore Sam, if the frown of his lips was anything to go by. He pulled the grey sheets over him, up to his neck, and flumped his head onto the pillow less than gently. Then, he _pouted_ at the ceiling.

Well. Sam'd been right about the underwear thing.

But he wasn't done with Gabriel. Not by a long shot. Even if the Archangel had plans to be done with him. No, Sam was going to get to the bottom of a few things, whether Gabriel talked to him or not. He'd spent years hammering away at Dean's carefully constructed shell. Gabriel's wouldn't be anything new. He'd just have to make sure he didn't hammer _too_ hard.

Sam took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders.

"I'm going to go change," he announced. "And then I'm coming back. And we're going to talk."

Gabriel's pout morphed into a scowl. He cut his eyes to glare at Sam.

"We _need_ to talk, Gabriel, and you know it. The sooner the better."

Gabriel held his glare for a few seconds until he was sure Sam wasn't going to back down. Upon confirming that, he sighed and resumed staring at the ceiling.

"Fine," he drawled.

Sam nodded and left. He returned to his room and spared a quick glance at his bed.

It was ruined. Probably. Maybe the mattress would dry out, but how long would that take? And would it mold? He didn't know and he didn't particularly care. There were plenty other spares in the Bunker. He'd just take one of those and move it in here. Easier than moving all of his junk.

He changed clothes quickly, leaving the wet ones in a pile in the corner. The corner he always dropped his clothes when he was too lazy to take them down to the laundry room. This time, though, he wasn't so much lazy as he was in a hurry.

When he returned to Gabriel's room, the Archangel didn't so much as twitch. Sam ignored Gabriel ignoring him, grabbed the chair from under the desk, and pulled it beside the bed. He sat with his side facing Gabriel's. He didn't want to completely face the other. He didn't want Gabriel to think he was interrogating him or something. No, he just wanted to talk. To relieve some pressure Gabriel might be feeling. Pressure his every move seemed to scream he was feeling...

Sam didn't say anything at first as he rubbed his palms against his jeans. He wanted Gabriel to start. He hoped Gabriel would start. When nothing was spoken for a solid minute, Sam silently cursed the other's hard-headedness and began instead.

"So..." He hesitated. "Dream."

Gabriel hummed.

"Did... Did that really happen? With Lucifer? The chasing thing and..."

Gabriel was silent for a moment, frowning slightly, before he replied, "Not exactly. In essence... May as well have been."

It was Sam's turn to frown as he looked down at Gabriel.

"Why would he have done that?" Sam asked. "I mean, I know Lucifer. I know... Well, I _know_. But still. You were his brother. Why would he treat you like that?"

The corner of Gabriel's lip twitched as a disdainful glint shown in his eyes.

"I got cocky," Gabriel said airily. "Tried to stop him. Tried to warn him. Begged. Little brothers should know better than to think _they_ know better."

Sam scoffed to keep from cringing.

"And, after all that, you still _loved _him?"

Gabriel turned his head towards Sam and finally _looked_ at him. But the weight behind that gaze made a shiver run down Sam's spine, and not the good kind. Sam frowned, an inkling of what Gabriel was telling him worrying him. Then, Gabriel looked out the still-open door. Just long enough to confirm Sam's suspicions. His eyes met Sam's again.

Sam opened his mouth to object. He opened it, and shut it, opened it again. Nothing would come out. He looked down at his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"It's hard, isn't it, Sam?" Gabriel questioned, oddly gentle. "You want to say, 'No.' No, that isn't how it is at all. He's a good person, I swear! ...But you can't. Because he's not always a good person, is he? You _know_, Sam. Don't judge me for having felt the exact same way you do."

"He tries," Sam mumbled.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows once in acknowledgment.

"Got me there."

Sam frowned again, gathering his courage to ask, "Did he- He stabbed you, didn't he?"

Gabriel huffed, "With my own blade. Still in my own hand."

Sam did cringe at that.

"Funny thing was," Gabriel continued, "that it hurt more to know he had no problem killing me than it did when he _actually_ killed me.

"I didn't go in there to kill him. I _couldn't_. ...Feeling wasn't mutual.

"I knew that. At least, I'd thought I'd known that. That's why I made that corny, _porny_ video.

"But it was one thing to think it. It was worse to actually_ know_ he didn't care. To see it in his eyes while he held me still and _twisted the knife_."

Those last words were snarled as Gabriel glared at some point on the wall. Sam stared at him. He didn't know what to say. What was there _to _say? I'm sorry? My condolences? ...That sucks? Nothing he could think of seemed to have enough weight to it.

But silence didn't seem right, either.

"I'm sorry," he wound up defaulting to.

Gabriel looked at him. It was an age-old look. Wary. None of the heat he'd had a second before.

Sam didn't like him looking like that. He was used to the Trickster. He was used to light-heartedness coming from Gabriel. Even his rage had been veiled behind a joke. But this seriousness and melancholy... It led to severity Sam wasn't sure he was ready to deal with. Not right now. Even though he'd, technically, asked for it by beginning this conversation.

"I was wrong about you, Sam," Gabriel admitted, both confusing and surprising him. "I saw Lucifer in you, I _feared_ you for that, and I took it out on you. And I was _wrong_. You are nothing like Lucifer and you never have been. Forget what I said in that warehouse. Forget whatever he told you."

Sam blinked away the tears he felt forming in his eyes as Gabriel pushed himself up to sit with his shoulders pressed against the headboard.

Sam wanted to leave. Because he wanted to believe what Gabriel was saying, and he did, but at the same time he _didn't_. He'd spent years trying to convince himself that Lucifer had been wrong. That just because he'd been the Vessel of the Devil didn't mean anything. That he _knew_ who he was. ...And for years, it was as if he'd been told differently. He saw it in the bad luck that followed the Winchesters like the plague. He heard it from a young girl whose family Lucifer's demons had murdered. He even heard it whispered in throw-away comments his own brother would make from time to time.

Doubt was a very powerful thing.

It kept Sam seated, wringing his hands in his lap. He looked up from them when Gabriel pointed out the door. Some of Gabriel's wariness had lifted. He looked determined.

"He wears the mark of Lucifer now. It may have branded Cain's arm, his soul, but it was given to him by my brother." He dropped his arm. "It carries the same cruelty, corruption, whatever the hell it was that turned my brother into what you saw.

"Lucifer didn't hesitate to kill me. He thought himself justified. Cain killed Abel feeling the same way."

Sam stared at him, wide-eyed, knowing what he was inferring. Gabriel didn't look away this time. He refused to.

"Fratricide is a very common theme in this Universe, Sam. It's God's little joke. You were able to beat it, and I'm still in awe of you about that, but Dean's not going to be able to. I'm sorry, but the Mark doesn't work that way. And the longer it spreads..."

Gabriel shook his head, not even bothering to hide the sympathy in his eyes.

"He _will_ kill you. And he _won't_ care. No matter how much you plead, no matter how many times he hits you, _nothing_ will stop him until you're dead. And you don't deserve that. I did, but not you."

Sam huffed a watery laugh and shook his head, "You didn't - "

"Don't. I know a lot more about what I did than you do. I spent centuries dealing out just desserts, okay? I _know_ what I deserved."

Sam looked back down at his hands, clenching them together. Gabriel was right. At least, Sam was pretty sure he was right. His logic was usually sound, whenever he finally decided to voice it.

"So we work on stopping it," he muttered. "Get rid of it before he falls that far. He doesn't _want_ to be that, to be a demon. He... I still need to tell him about possibly altering the Mark. If he agrees quickly then we should be good, right?"

He looked up at Gabriel, but Gabriel's confidence now seemed shaky. Sam worried.

"You're not well enough," Sam stated.

"No," Gabriel admitted. "I'm glad you tried to help me, Sam. Little peeved that you saw some things I didn't want you to, but eh. I'll live. But you didn't recharge my Grace. And if Metatron keeps using the siren as often as he has..."

"It might be too late."

Gabriel nodded.

Sam fidgeted. To save Dean he'd have to remove the Mark. Before they could remove the Mark, they had to take out Abaddon. To do that they had to get the Blade from Crowley. And they had to do all of that as quick as possible so that Gabriel could try and alter the Mark, since the theory of using Cain fell short - it would take too long to find the demon. However, for _that_ Gabriel had to be at full strength. Something he couldn't be because of Metatron.

No. Because of_ Gadreel_. Gadreel was the one actually using the sigil.

Sam frowned. Gabriel had tried to tell him earlier that morning: Gadreel could help them. Sam hadn't wanted to listen. He still didn't want to. But, now, Dean's life was on the line, as was Gabriel's, and Sam _would_ go against his own wishes to make sure they survived. He would stop Gadreel. He'd... Loathe as he was to think it, he'd try and get the angel to switch sides again. It was the only way to get anything done and get it done _right. _He could only hope Kevin wouldn't judge him too harshly for it.

Silence had descended upon the room while he'd been thinking. Now that he noticed, he realized how uncomfortable it was. The gravity of the situation seemed to darken the whole room.

Sam cleared his throat and tried to bring up something a little more innocent. Something less stressful. Not just to help drag himself out of the funk, but Gabriel, too.

"Okay. Um... Change of topic: Why do you have four wings?"

Gabriel's left brow rose, faint amusement clear on his face. Sam sensed he knew what Sam was doing, but he also didn't call Sam out on it. Instead, he answered.

"I'm part cherub. Was the leader of them, once upon a time. Or should I say _in the beginning," _he joked, waving his hands mockingly.

Sam smirked at the play on words, and then frowned.

"What like a cupid?"

Gabriel surprised Sam with a laugh. An eye-crinkling, dimple-forming laugh. One Sam felt himself wanting to mirror, even though he wasn't aware why what he'd said was so funny.

* * *

**A/N: **You might notice I'm a fan of abrupt endings. Anyhoo, I feel that, for the sake of clarifying the mood of Gabriel at this point in time, I should bring attention to the song "Jesus Christ" by Brand New. Since this fic focuses on Sam, I rarely get to reveal Gabriel's inner thoughts and processes other than what I'm already doing. So... I'll just use music to steer any still confused in the proper direction.

If you're still confused by anything, feel free to leave a review or send a message. I tend to answer said questions to clear up any misunderstandings. Plus, it'll help me remember to be more thorough in my explanations...if I can. I mean, Sam may be psychic but he's not Chuck. Oh! But don't expect me to spoil. I'm not THAT nice.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Ho ho ho, merry whatever. I drop a major hint regarding plot in this chapter. Good luck finding it within 10k words. ...I write too much.**

* * *

Sam had a plan. Granted, it was a spur of the moment plan, but it was a plan nonetheless, and if there was one thing Sam Winchester was good at it was thinking.

He'd had a lot of time to think, too, while he'd stayed in what was now Gabriel's room, chatting candidly with the Archangel. Both of them had willingly ignored the nightmare after the initial discussion of it. Sam was pretty sure an unspoken agreement had been passed between them to not touch the topic of abusive, stab-happy brothers with a ten foot pole ever again.

And they didn't. They talked about how there were different types of cherubim, all with their different divisions, but all sharing the same four-winged trait. Gabriel had laughed at Sam because cupids were near the bottom of the proverbial food chain, and he'd been at the top. It was also hilarious thinking about having nothing better to do than to play an invisible matchmaker. Hilarious, and insulting. No matter how much porn he may or may not have starred in.

From cherubim, the topic of conversation had bounced to the inconsistences of human myth, misinterpretations that really got on Gabriel's nerves, and then a rant about _Ancient Aliens_ soon followed.

Sam had zoned out during that rant, occasionally nodding along, vaguely aware of how Gabriel was accusing his species of giving themselves too little credit when it was deserved, and too much credit when it wasn't. Sam was inclined to agree with him. But the genius of ancient peoples wasn't what Sam needed to ponder right then, and so he shifted his attention back to his earlier thoughts regarding the problem at hand.

Gabriel was remarkably chatty, despite the exhaustion Sam could read in his body, and Sam was pretty sure the Archangel was only talking to keep himself from falling asleep. Or, at the very least, to distract himself. And the only reason he needed to do either, or both, of those things was because of that damn Angel Siren.

Sam had to tackle that problem first.

He already knew he'd have to go after Gadreel. Again. Alone this time. The last thing he needed was for Dean to tag along and slip back into his Mark-of-Cain-induced rage. It wouldn't be good for Dean, it wouldn't be good for Gadreel, and if it wasn't good for Gadreel it jeopardized the truce Sam needed to get the angel to cooperate.

However, he didn't know how to contact Gadreel. It wasn't exactly like he'd gotten the angel's number the last time they'd had a 'chat.' ...Did Gadreel even know how to _use_ a phone? Maybe. If he'd poked and prodded Sam's mind as thoroughly as Sam knew he had. He knew how to drive a car, why did Sam doubt he knew how to use a phone?

Great, now his mind was wandering too far.

He jerked his attention back to Gabriel, briefly, catching a clip about Mesopotamia and writing, before he set his train of thought back on track.

Right, contacting Gadreel.

He could always pray. The thought disgusted Sam more than he thought it could. This was the angel that had lied to him, hidden inside him, and killed his friend. A _kid_. All because he 'did what he had to do.' Sam shuddered involuntarily, quickly trying to pass it off as a cold shiver, smiling at Gabriel and nodding for him to continue.

No, to hell with praying to Gadreel. But, if he didn't do that, what were his other options?

Well, he could always call Cas. Castiel was supposed to have gained a little posse of angels, last time he checked. Maybe they'd caught whiff of the elusive right-hand of Metatron. Hopefully. It couldn't _hurt_ to call Cas.

Right, so, call Cas. Ask about Gadreel. See if he could help Sam locate Gadreel. Maybe Cas could even be his back-up. They could hunt Gadreel down, make him stop using the Angel Siren, and let him go.

Sam didn't want to let him go, but...they needed him alive. That's right, Gadreel knew where the door to Heaven was. Or the pocket of space Metatron kept punching through. They could ask Gadreel about that, too. Or follow him. Two birds with one stone.

"And I am talkin' to myself over here."

It took Sam two seconds too long to mentally replay what his ears had just heard Gabriel say. He took a deep breath, pulling himself out of his thoughts, and focused on Gabriel's face.

Gabriel was frowning at him from where he sat leaning against the headboard, bemused, one eyebrow raised in question. His hands were no longer waving through the air along to his stories, they were tucked under his arms. Arms that were folded across his chest.

"Sorry," Sam apologized with a light shrug. "I was thinking."

"Yeah, I figured," Gabriel replied airily. "And, apparently, about something more important than a firsthand account of human history that I'd been so sure your nerd brain would have 'gasmed all over itself to hear."

Sam gave him a quick, tight-lipped smile as he fiddled with hands in his lap.

"Yeah, kinda," he admitted, standing quickly from his seat.

Gabriel seemed even less happy by his response and opened his mouth with, what Sam was sure to be, a complaint. His eyes tracked Sam's own as Sam turned towards him.

"Look, I gotta go do something," Sam interrupted, knowing full well that Gabriel would have no idea what had caused Sam's sudden change in mood.

Sam intended to keep it that way, too. He didn't want to tell Gabriel he planned on doing something potentially dangerous just to save him or, at the very least, prevent him from being hurt again. Not that he didn't want Gabriel to care, but because he knew Gabriel _would_ care. Then, Gabriel would probably yell at him, assault his intelligence. The last thing Sam wanted to hear was one of the Archangel's angry tirades. He didn't have the time nor the patience.

Gabriel still looked like he had an objection on the tip of his tongue. Even as Sam was leaning towards him. Gabriel subconsciously moved back, almost going cross-eyed trying to watch Sam's face approach his own.

Sam's lips pressed against Gabriel's. It was a quick, chaste kiss. One Sam wasn't surprised to find Gabriel reciprocate, no matter how brief it was. When Sam pulled back and stood, Gabriel was staring at him, lips still a little puckered, in what could only be wary confusion.

Sam quickly strode from the room, headed for his own. He had to pack, call Cas, and whatever his friend told him regarding Gadreel would determine his next course of action. He'd have to tell Dean he was leaving. He wasn't sure what'd he'd say to him, yet, but he'd think of something. Last resort? He could always lie.

It wasn't until Sam was near his door that he realized he'd just kissed Gabriel. The _real_ Gabriel. In real life. Like, _reality_ and not a dream world. Which was where he had kissed Gabriel's _Grace_.

Sam shut his eyes and leaned his head against the doorframe to his room.

That might have explained why Gabriel had looked at him like that, and not his odd behavior. Well, it was still technically odd behavior, but not the behavior Sam had been thinking was odd. He was going to stop thinking now before he got a headache.

"Yep," Sam told himself. "Real smooth, Sam."

He smacked the wall with his hand, straightened up, and then entered his room.

What was done was done. He'd address the hurdle he'd just jumped over later. It wouldn't be smart to rush back to Gabriel's room to say, 'Haha, my bad. I forgot we weren't that much of a thing. Again. I've been doing that a lot these past two days. Y'know what? I'm just gonna go. _Again_,' and then trip over himself when trying to flee from embarrassment.

Shutting the door behind him, Sam reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell. He only hoped Castiel had this old number programed into his phone. He, also, thanked his brain for bothering to remember Castiel's number and not being solely dependent on his old phone's contact list to do it for him.

As the phone rang, Sam began digging around in his dresser, pulling out at least a week's change of clothes. So maybe he was jumping the gun, but it never hurt to be prepared. In the extremely rare case of Gadreel remaining in the general vicinity of where his last Angel Siren crusade had taken place, Sam had a half-day's drive ahead of him. Worst-case scenario, Gadreel was somewhere ridiculous like Maine. Or Heaven. God, Sam really hoped he wasn't in Heaven. Couldn't really drive _there_, could he?

On the third ring, Castiel finally answered with a curious, "Hello?"

So, he probably didn't have Sam's number.

"Hey, Cas, it's me," Sam said, nearly flinging a pair of jeans onto his bed before remembering it was soaked through.

He frowned at himself, shook his head, and placed them on top of the dresser instead.

"Sam?" Castiel questioned. "Where are you calling from? ..._Why _are you calling? I'm sorry. That came out rude. I meant - "

Sam chuckled at Castiel's well-known awkwardness and replied, "No, I got what you meant, Cas. This is a new phone. Well, old phone. Not important. Look, I need you to find Gadreel for me, if you haven't already."

Cas was silent for a moment, the background noises on the other end of the line barely making their way through the speaker. Sam heard a lot of murmuring. He wondered where Cas was.

"Sam," Cas began gently, "I understand why you and your brother are hunting Gadreel, and I am as well, but I don't understand why you're going after him so soon after... Last time."

Right. Last time. When Castiel had been angel-napped and Gadreel had come way too close to being murdered before Sam could get to Dean. Sure, Dean had restrained himself, and Sam was very thankful for that, but the facts were the facts. And with this new information they had regarding how the Mark operated... Well, going after Gadreel so quickly would definitely sound like a bad idea. Especially when taking into consideration Metatron would be on high alert and not so forgiving a second time if they captured his soldier.

"Yeah, no, I get that. But... Cas, I'm not _after him_ after him. I just need..."

"_You_ just need?" Castiel asked, clearly having picked up on his used pronouns.

Shit. Sam mentally berated himself as he shut his dresser drawer, a pile of clothes now on top of it. This was going to sound so bad, or illogical, to Cas and he knew it. But there was nothing he could do about that.

He took a deep breath and began, "Okay, look. Gadreel's used the Angel Siren again. I know because Gabriel collapsed earlier today, and it was _bad_, Cas. Okay? He was screaming, half the lights in the Bunker are out, I got zapped back a few feet when I tried to touch him. I tried dream walking to help him restore his Grace, like I did last time, but I fucked that up. He's weak. I'm pretty sure he needs to sleep.

"I have to stop Gadreel from using that Siren. I have to. Dean can't come with me, not when there's a chance he'll upset or attack Gadreel. Because, then, Gadreel might not listen - "

"Sam," Castiel interrupted, this time more stern. "What do you mean you tried to restore his Grace _like last time_?"

Sam frowned, confused, "I didn't tell you about that?"

"_No._"

"I thought I did. Back at the motel room after Gabriel woke up. When he was talking about the bond. Dean cracked a joke about it being _profound_."

Cas sighed, "Gabriel said you dream walked. He never said anything about you restoring his Grace. Dammit, Gabriel."

Sam nibbled at his lip, packing momentarily forgotten, "Is that...bad?"

"It's not good. A human should have no control over an angel's Grace, least of all an Archangel's. If you are correct when you say you restored his, in any fashion, you essentially healed him. Or manipulated him to heal himself. Which means you're strengthening the bond, not shying away from it.

"Your powers are strengthening, a little too quickly, in my opinion. Sam, when you say you messed up restoring him this time, what did you mean?"

Sam took a deep breath. He was really starting to hate having to repeat himself, if only because it made him feel worse every time he did. His powers were back, or he had new ones, either way, he felt ashamed about them. Especially whenever he admitted to himself that he didn't mind them too much. They were useful! But even thinking like _that_ was blasphemy as far as a Winchester was concerned. And to _mess up_ with those powers? That just made them dangerous. Made him dangerous. He didn't want people thinking that. He didn't want them afraid of him again. They...

Well, he had a habit of being locked away.

He sighed shakily.

"I was going to-to... Do that manipulating thing again, I guess? But he was stuck in this nightmare. He was panicking, I panicked." Sam braced himself for impact as he finished, "I couldn't do anything with his Grace, but I did summon a whole bunch of water. Outside of the dream."

The long silence from the other end of the line wasn't reassuring. Seconds passed, seconds that seemed to stretch on for much longer than they should, and Sam wanted to dig a hole and throw himself in it.

"Cas?"

"Gabriel _woefully_ down-played your abilities," Castiel replied evenly.

"I'm sorry," Sam almost whispered.

He was starting to shake. He could feel it in his hands and knees. He walked over to the chair Dean had sat in hours earlier and damn near _fell_ into it. His nerves were beyond frayed, at this point.

"There's nothing to apologize for," Cas dismissed. "It's not the end of the world. Well... If Metatron has his way, it might be. I'm unsure on what his plans are. But that has nothing to do with you or your psychic powers."

"You're rambling, Cas," Sam mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

"Right. Sorry." He paused. "Now _I'm _the one apologizing."

Sam huffed with what was meant to be a laugh, and it would have been if he wasn't feeling so beaten down. Tired. Leave it to his own mind to do an efficient job of tearing him down.

He needed to get out of this funk. He needed to get out of it as fast as he'd fallen into it. He had to think about his course of action. Think of Gabriel, Dean, Gadreel, the reason he'd called Cas in the first place, _anything _other than his shit luck when it came to his life's story. He just had to breathe and think.

"So. You've materialized something with your mind," Castiel began, sounding as if he was reading from a grocery list. "And you've done that while asleep?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted.

"That's when the mind's most creative, or lenient. More willing to bend the laws of reality. And with you focusing your energy on dreams..."

"What are you getting at?"

"If I had to guess, your powers are following in Gabriel's footsteps."

That bit of information actually shocked Sam. He frowned, tilting his head to the side as if he'd heard wrong.

"Wh-what?"

"Granted, Gabriel's power is fueled by his Grace and mastery of the cosmos - "

"How am I following in Gabe's footsteps?"

"He creates illusions, but he also creates material things, as well," Castiel explained. "Or, it's better to say he changes material things into other material things. Transforms them into whatever he wants. All with the power of thought, with his _imagination_."

Sam took another deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You're saying that I'm using my powers like he does? Just..._dreaming_ up stuff and making it happen?"

"Given enough time and use, you'd probably be able to 'dream' stuff up while fully awake. You might even be able to mimic a trickster."

"Oh-ho-kay. I have officially bitten off more than I can chew."

"You give yourself too little credit, Sam."

"Oh, do I?" Sam snapped, the question rhetorical. "Because I just _accidentally_ dumped who knows how many gallons of water on myself, Gabriel, _and_ my bed. On _accident_, Cas! Do you have any idea what I could have brought out with me instead?!"

"No," Castiel replied gently. "Do you?"

Sam clenched his teeth, glancing down at the floor and away from his mattress. He wasn't going to tell Castiel what he'd seen. He hadn't told Dean and he wasn't going to tell Cas. He remembered the glare Gabriel had given him. He remembered how Gabriel had said he didn't even want Sam knowing about what haunted him.

"It was bad, Cas," he muttered. "It was just...really bad. And I... I can't risk that again. I could have hurt someone, and I don't want that. But I... I just want to help."

The line grew quiet again.

Damn him. Damn him and his desire for power. Power to help his friends, his family, himself. Anytime a spark of it came near him, he wanted to latch on and use it. To use it for good, as cliché as it was to say it that way. And _every time_, that power turned into something _wrong_. Destructive. And he was damned for ever having chased it in the first place.

"Sam," Castiel said. "I'm going to advise you not to use your powers. Not until you're disciplined enough to control them."

He blinked in confusion.

"They're growing in leaps and bounds because you're willing them to. You're determined, and that's a good thing. But you're not trained. And, until you are, well... You've already acknowledged the danger these abilities pose."

"I should just stop," he spoke up dejectedly.

"But you won't."

Sam hesitated, trying to deny Castiel and finding it unreasonably hard to open his mouth to do so.

"You've already admitted that your desire is to help, and I've never once known you to cease trying to do that. _Train_. Gabriel can help you. If he doesn't want to, _make him_. It's his Grace that triggered your latent psychic abilities in the first place."

He licked his lips, "You honestly think I can control this?"

"You threw the devil back into his Cage," was Castiel's blunt reply.

The seriousness in his friend's voice startled a laugh out of Sam. Yes, he'd done that. Not immediately, but... Better late than never, he figured. He sighed.

"Yeah, well, Gabriel's not going to be able to teach me jack if I can't stop Gadreel."

It was Castiel's turn to sigh.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but we have no leads on him. Me and the other angels, the ones that came to meet me, we've just now found a building that'll serve as our headquarters. Hardly anything's set up. Angels are still coming. We've not had _time_ to look for him, let alone Metatron."

Sam groaned, sliding down in his chair to lean his head against the back of it. He shut his eyes and cursed his luck a second time. Or a third. He'd lost count at that point. He rolled his head to look at the clothes piled haphazardly on his dresser.

"Where are you?" He asked. "I could help you set up and - "

"That won't speed things along as much as you want them to," Castiel interrupted. "You remember how long it took me to find his trail the first time. What if a case comes up and your brother needs you? Or we do find Gadreel and he's closer to the Bunker than to me?"

"No, I know that. I just - "

"Want to help," Castiel finished. "Unfortunately, Sam, I can't help _you_. Not in time. Are there any other avenues you've thought of that you can take?"

Sam shut his eyes in a grimace. Yeah, he'd thought of one. He'd wanted to dismiss it and never think of it again. Unfortunately, it didn't appear as if he had the luxury to do that. Dammit.

"I thought about praying to him," Sam grumbled, opening his eyes to glare heatedly at his feet.

Castiel paused before replying, "I can see why you'd call me first."

"Yeah."

"Well, I know how much you loathe the idea, but...it _is_ currently your best option. We may not have our wings, but we still have our ears. He'll hear you. Now, if he answers your call that's another story. You and your brother did do a number on him, though I don't blame you."

"_I_ didn't do a number on him," Sam spat, sour at how he'd been denied the right to confront Gadreel because he'd been 'too close.' "I got one punch in and Dean kicked me out to search for you. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I did, but..."

Sam trailed off, hearing the tell-tale scraping of a hand against a mouthpiece. Someone was talking to Castiel, he could hear them mumbling. He couldn't make out what they were saying, though. However, Castiel hadn't done_ too_ good of a job silencing his phone.

"Not now, Benjamin."

"Benjamin?" Sam teased, smirking. He was a little too amused thinking about Cas failing at being sneaky and polite.

"Um...yes. Sam, could you excuse me?" More rustling as Cas commanded, "Not _now_. ...Is it really _that_ important? ...Fine. Just let me finish this phone call, please. You're dismissed. Sam?"

"Benjamin."

"I'm sorry about that. He's one of the angels working for me - _with_ me. They...want me to take roll call."

Sam snorted. He pursed his lips and nodded.

"No, yeah, roll call. That's definitely very important, Cas. I get it."

"...It is?"

And that was when Sam remembered Cas sometimes forgot sarcasm was a thing.

"Oh, yeah! Gotta see who all's present and accounted for. Listen, Cas, it's fine if you have to go. I should probably get off here, too. I have a homicidal angel to pray to, after all."

He said as if all angels weren't homicidal. Before he could muse further on his choice of words, he heard the doorknob click. His eyes quickly glanced over, and when they spotted Dean he nearly forgot how to breathe.

Oh, please, let him have not heard that last sentence. Sam would be a dead man if he had. Sam did not want to be a dead man. He had shit to do.

"Alright," Castiel relented. "And Sam? Tell Dean where you're going."

Sam was going to be a dead man, anyway, apparently. Dean crossed his arms and frowned at him, clearly _impatiently_ waiting for Sam to get off the phone.

"I know you don't want to. I have a very good idea _why_ you don't want to. However, you _did_ get onto Dean for taking off and not giving you any details. It'll ease his mind and, God forbid, if the worse should happen, he'll know how to get to you."

"Yeah, okay, Cas. Point taken. Thanks. Bye."

He hung up. He stood up. He put his phone in his pocket. He smiled stiffly at his brother. When Dean glanced from his expression to the clothes piled behind him, Sam drove another nail in his coffin.

"Going somewhere?" Dean questioned, calm and suspicious, and that was not a good combination with Dean.

Sam didn't want to tell Dean. Sam really did _not_ want to tell his brother. Because Dean was, well, _his brother_. And if there was one thing Sam knew about his brother, it was that he would fly off the handle at even the faintest whiff of Sam doing something remarkably naïve and dangerous..._alone_. It was bad enough if Sam suggested something risky for them to do together, it was out of the question for him to do it _alone._

It was annoying. Sam wasn't a kid. Hadn't really been for about twenty years now. However, Cas was right. Sam _had_ berated Dean for sneaking off, not telling him where he was going, and not answering his texts. He'd explained that it was a brother's duty to be worried for the other when their lives were, y'know, _deadly,_ and an update every once in a while wasn't an unreasonable thing to ask. Not giving Dean the same curtesy would be a tad hypocritical of him, not to mention possibly fatal. This was _Gadreel_ he was going after.

So, how could Sam inform his brother of what he intended to do without making Dean blow a gasket?

"Uh, yeah," Sam replied easily. "Called Cas to find out where Gadreel was."

Dean nodded, brows raised slightly. Feigning interest; still suspicious.

"Oh. Right. Okay. _Why?_"

Sam rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension building up in them.

"You saw what happened with Gabriel," Sam started to explain. "Or, the aftermath of it, anyway. Gadreel's messed him up, again. We need his help. I figured I should stop Gadreel from using the Angel Siren, thus freeing up Gabriel and allowing him to help us more."

Dean blinked. "Well, Gabriel suggested you were up to something, but I honestly didn't think it'd be something so fuckin' _stupid_."

And there he goes!

"It's not stupid - " Sam stopped, recalling the first half of Dean's sentence. "Wait, Gabriel did what?"

"Yeah," Dean drawled, leaning against the doorway to Sam's room. "I went to go drop off some extra clothes I'd found - having checked his tags - and he gave me a _withering _glare, dropped under the covers, probably pouted like a five-year-old, and _then_ he mumbled for me to check up on you.

"I said, 'Why?' He said, 'Does it look like I fuckin' know? Just do it, asshole.' I thought, 'You don't look like anything, you're under a damn sheet,' but I didn't waste my breath saying that. I came in here. And found you on the phone. With Cas. Plotting about going after Gadreel. And you probably had no intention of letting me know."

Sam frowned, "They were, like, the first words out of my mouth, Dean."

"Only because I walked in on you."

Sam rolled his eyes, "No. I was going to tell you, anyway. Cas' orders."

"Oh, well, at least one of you has a brain."

Count to ten, Sam. Count to ten. You can do this. You've done it for years.

"Look," he started, "while you were off drinking your sorrows, Gabriel and I talked about the Mark. He came up with another way to fix the problem, and it's probably one you're not going to like, but it's the only thing that'll work fast enough. _We need Gabriel._

"Hell, we need Gadreel! We still need to find out where the path to Heaven is! So, I called Cas to ask if he has any information on him."

"Does he?"

"Yes," Sam lied smoothly. "I'm going to go out to where Cas is, meet with him, and we're going to see if we can pin him down and make him talk."

Okay, so, he was entirely too comfortable with lying. Old habits die hard. Especially with Winchesters. However, other than the Cas thing, he wasn't going to lie. He _was_ going to tell Dean where he was going. ...As soon as he figured that out himself.

"Fine," Dean growled. "Just let me pack my things - "

"No!" Sam exclaimed, inwardly flinching at his lack of tact.

"No?" Dean challenged, glaring at him now.

"Dean, you can't come. You can't - " he spoke quickly to keep Dean from complaining, " - risk snapping at Gadreel again. _We_ can't risk it. You admitted yourself, last time, that you wanted to kill him. And the Mark... Dean, you _can't go_."

Sam stared at him, hard, trying to convey the weight of his words and his sincerity. Dean's glare barely lessened, his jaw twitching as he clenched it. He wanted to argue, Sam knew. Hell, he probably wanted to punch Sam. However, he didn't. Seconds ticked on and he kept his mouth shut.

Dean sighed harshly through his nose, turning his glare towards Sam's doorframe.

"This fuckin' sucks," he spat. "I hate this goddamn Mark. I hate what it's doing to me. I hate how you think I'm a loose cannon."

"Dean - "

"And I hate that _you're not wrong!_"

Sam's placation halted in his throat.

Dean was actually admitting he had a problem. A problem Sam had tried to get him to reveal - because he'd known, he'd seen the symptoms - and Dean had dug his heels in, just like he always did, and said everything was fine.

Only, now, they both knew that it wasn't.

Perhaps that was why Dean was acknowledging his struggle with the Mark. Gabriel had ripped the wool from both their eyes. They couldn't deny what they both could see. Dean couldn't pawn it off on a bad mood or a bad night. He couldn't wiggle around and make Sam think it was all in his head. He _had_ to address it.

Sam was glad, for once. Dean could move forward, make progress... Take the necessary precautions not to tip too far over the edge.

"That's why I'm going," Sam explained softly. "And I'm sorry you can't, I really am. But I have to do this. It's the lesser of...however many evils are out there, right now. Just let me take care of it."

Dean fumed silently, weighing his options as his fingers dug into his arms. Eventually, he sighed, entire body slouching with defeat. He finally looked back over to Sam, a scowl still firmly in place.

"Fine, whatever," he groused. He pointed at Sam, "But you're keeping me updated on everything you're doing. I don't trust Gadreel, and especially not after what I- What I did to him last time. We ambushed him, I won't put it past him to do the same to you guys."

Sam nodded, "Okay. I just have to get my bag, pack it, and then I'll be on my way. I'll be taking the Demon."

Dean jerked his head, the slight smirk forming on his features quickly alerting Sam to what he was going to do. Sam held up his hand.

"Please, don't," he flashed a smile, "Gabriel's already cracked the joke."

Dean huffed, mood souring again. "Freakin' Archangel."

"You do realize you're going to have to take care of him while I'm gone, right?" Sam teased.

"Oh ho, no I will not."

"I'll need to know if he has another episode..."

Dean rolled his eyes so hard Sam was surprised they didn't roll back into his skull. And that would have given him some not-too-happy memories of Lilith, so he was very glad they hadn't done that.

"Whatever. But if he asks me to bring him some soup, I'm dumping it on his head," Dean stated firmly.

"He might smite you for that."

"It'll be worth it. Besides, he'll have to catch me first. Something tells me his little legs can't keep up with mine."

Sam wasn't going to remind Dean that angels could use telekinesis, and thus Gabriel would probably just throw him up against a wall or glue his feet to the floor. No, he'd let Dean keep his little fantasy about besting the Archangel, for once. Plus, it was funny imagining Gabriel physically chasing Dean down. He'd probably get winded pretty early on. He didn't appear to get much exercise. In fact, Sam would guess Gabriel was a couch potato, through and through.

He wondered what Gabriel's face would look like if he invited the Archangel out for a run. Most likely one-part confusion and three-parts disdain.

"Right, well. Just try not to kill him before I get back?" Sam asked.

He ignored Dean's promise that he, in fact, couldn't promise that and walked past his brother into the hallway. His bag was back on the table in the foyer. Along with his laptop.

Now that he thought about it, he was actually glad they'd been left where they had. He _had_ doused his bed with water. Knowing his luck, his laptop wouldn't have been spared.

Shit, but his pistol was still under his pillow. He really hoped it wasn't fucked up. He'd check on it when he came back for his clothes.

"Oh," Sam spoke up, turning to hold a finger up at Dean, who frowned at him. "Tell Cas about the Mark."

"Sam -"

"_Dean. _He deserves to know. If anything, he might could help you figure some stuff out about it, stuff that Gabriel can't."

Dean rolled his eyes, again, and threw his hands up.

"Alright, fine! Let's just tell the whole goddamn world while we're at it!"

Sam nodded once, turned, and continued his journey down the hallway. Dean was a stubborn ass, but his weak spot was family. He'd tell Cas what Gabriel had told them. Even if it took way too much booze in his system for him to. And, he knew he was right: Cas could help Dean. Regardless if he had information about the Mark or not.

* * *

Sam sat in his car, his _Demon_, on the side of the road, miles from the Bunker, with his head against the steering wheel. It wasn't really a comfortable position, considering his size compared to that of the car's, but he wasn't feeling all around comfortable anyway. So, it kinda fit.

He had to pray to _Gadreel_.

He hadn't done it yet. He'd mulled the idea over in his mind for so long that it was beginning to look a bit like cud. However, he'd already told Cas what he was going to do (and texted him to lie about the whole coming-with thing), he'd told Dean. He'd packed his bag, an angel blade, and his pistol (miraculously dry) was resting against his back. Sam was _ready_. He'd done everything but the most important step in his plan, at this point.

He had to suck it up and move forward that final inch.

Taking a deep breath, Sam closed his eyes, cursed himself, and began to pray. Aloud. If only for the paranoia that, if he did it internally, Gadreel would catch on to what he was truly planning.

"Gadreel," Sam intoned. "Gadreel, it's Sam. Though, you could probably figure that out from my voice. Look, I'm not going to lie to you and say that I'm praying to you because I feel like it. Heaven, Hell, and every damn realm in-between knows that I don't. But... I need to speak with you. And prayers aren't that good at it. So, I'm going to give you my phone number, and you're going to call me. You had _better_ call me."

Sam's voice cracked on that last part, a harsher threat dying on his lips before he could voice it. Gadreel wouldn't do anything if he did that. So, he stifled his growing rage and gave Gadreel his number instead.

Then, he waited.

He waited for five minutes, and then ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. An hour. An hour and a half. The rush of wheels passing by him on the main highway was the only sound he heard.

He refused to let doubt seep into his mind. Not right now. It'd had its time earlier, now he was going to focus on his faith. His _stubbornness_ and _denial_ that he'd wasted his time in getting ready to hunt down Gadreel because the angel wouldn't answer him.

At two hours, Sam closed his eyes, shifted down into his seat, and thought about taking a nice little nap. One where, hopefully, he wouldn't accidentally yank something dangerous into the real world. He made sure to keep his phone in his hands. He hoped the police wouldn't pull up behind him to see if anything was wrong, or to tell him the side of the road was no place to sleep. Accidents happen, and he didn't want to be rear-ended by an inattentive driver, did he?

The phone rang just as he was on the edge of sleep, causing him to jump as adrenaline spiked through his system. He blinked rapidly, squinting at the setting sun. By the second ring, Sam had pushed himself up straight and checked the number. It was unknown. He answered the phone before the third.

"Hello?" He asked, annoyingly hopeful.

"Hello, Sam."

Gadreel's voice caused a cold shiver to travel down his spine. He shut his eyes against the memory of it. When Crowley had appeared in a dream he'd thought was reality. How Gadreel had suddenly appeared behind the King of Hell, tall but not imposing. Not yet. He had greeted Sam naturally, almost friendly, before looking down at the demon in his presence. In _Sam_.

But then there was also that cold, cruel, _taunting_ lilt it could take. The one he had used on Sam last.

'If this is like looking into a funhouse mirror for me, I cannot imagine what it is like for you.' 'I have _been_ you, Sam Winchester. Your insides reek of _shame_ and _weakness_.'

Sam had punched him for that. Because he hadn't been wrong. Sam was ashamed, for a lot of things. And he'd been weak, too. But that wasn't all he was, and how dare Gadreel attack him with that. _Gadreel_, the angel who was guilty of the same thing he accused Sam of.

Fucking hypocrite.

"I was starting to wonder if you'd call," Sam said conversationally, ignoring his nerves.

"I had to wait for Metatron's dismissal before I could call you," Gadreel replied, as if conversing was a normal thing for them. "And I had to procure a phone."

"Right. Okay, I'm just going to jump to the chase: I need to meet you. In person. I don't care where, just alone. Just the two of us. Dean's not with me, he thinks I'm with Cas. Cas isn't with me, though."

Gadreel was silent a moment before asking, "Why?"

"I don't want to discuss it over the phone. I know angels can pick up on radio waves, and you're probably knee-deep in Metatron's forces right now. I'd feel better doing this face-to-face."

"Sam, the last time you and I met face-to-face I was captured and beaten by your brother. You must forgive me my hesitance."

Sam sighed slowly. Gadreel had a point, and Sam had guessed the angel would bring up their last 'dealings' at some point. He just hadn't expected it to be so soon. And he didn't really know what to say.

"Lightning doesn't strike twice," Sam mumbled, wondering if Gadreel would even know that idiom. "You're not going to fall for that again, I already know that, so it would be stupid to try and trick you again. You have my word that I'm not going to try and capture you. I just need _to talk_. There's something I have to tell you, something I have to ask you. That's all I want to say over the phone.

"You claim you know me. You've _been_ me, remember? Listen to my voice and tell me I'm lying?"

Once again, Gadreel fell silent.

Sam stared intently at the steering wheel in front of him, whole body tense with anticipation. He hadn't been lying, and Gadreel wouldn't pick up anything to the contrary. Sam had no desire to capture Gadreel; he'd serve them better free to keep Metatron happy. ...However, he hadn't said he wouldn't _hurt_ him.

"Very well," Gadreel relented. "I will send you the coordinates of a neutral location, one that neither your side or mine has used before. I will be waiting for you when you arrive, and you have _my_ word that I will not attempt to harm you unless an attack is made against me first. We may be on opposing sides of this battle, Sam, but I believe we can maintain our honor."

Honor. Right. Coming from the guy who turned against them and killed Kevin. Very _honorable_ to go against your word and harm an innocent.

Sam smothered that niggling voice in the back of his head, whispering to him about how Dean had turned on Gadreel first by plotting behind his back to silence him. That Dean had, technically, broken his code of honor first. Because Sam didn't want to hear it. It didn't excuse Kevin's death.

"Alright. I'll head in your direction as soon as I get them."

"I will be expecting you. Farewell, Sam."

The line went dead and Sam pulled the phone from his ear to stare at the screen, waiting for the text.

He swallowed thickly. He could do this. He could put aside his hate and grief and he could do this. It wouldn't be his first rodeo with his emotions. It wouldn't be the first time he thought of the bigger picture. He had a funny feeling it wouldn't be his last, either.

The phone dinged pleasantly, screen lighting up with a symbol of an envelope. Sam copied the coordinates Gadreel gave him, put them into Google, and pulled up a map for his destination. He huffed a quiet laugh.

"Well, it's not a warehouse," he mused out loud.

No, it was just a parking garage. One that seemed a bit on the small side, at least from aerial view. It was also, apparently, in Corpus Christi. Roughly fifteen hours away.

"At least, it's not in Maine," he grumbled.

Sam memorized the route for the main leg of the journey. He texted Dean to tell him where he was going and that it'd be, at most, two days before he got back. He texted Cas the same info. Then, he dropped the phone between his legs, and pulled back onto the highway.

He had a long drive ahead of him, one he wasn't looking forward to, but he'd tough it out.

He could only hope Gadreel would take into account that Sam needed time to get there. A _lot_ of time, anyway. Gadreel knew where the Bunker was, unfortunately. Hopefully he would do the math same as Sam had. Hopefully nothing else would come up, causing Gadreel to leave before Sam got there. That would _really_ put Sam in a foul mood. Beyond foul.

And then there was Dean and Gabriel to worry about. Gabriel would probably recuperate within a day. At least, enough to get back up on his feet. He had last time. And, when that happened, Dean would probably follow him around like a pissed-off dog. Then, Gabriel would get progressively more annoyed. He'd snap. Dean would be Dean. Gabe would be Gabe. And Sam would probably return to find the aftermath of their mutual destruction and subsequent death.

Sam leaned over to turn the radio on, praying for a distraction. His phone dinged again. Frowning, he brought it up so he could see both the road and the message he'd just received. It was from Cas.

_"Sam," _it read, _"when I said to tell Dean of your plan, I didn't mean for you to have included me in it. He's now falsely under the belief that I am there to protect you when I'm not. What if you're injured and I wasn't there to help you? We're both going to be screwed. However, I understand why you lied. I'll remain silent. For now. Keep me updated. Stay safe."_

Sam snorted and dropped the phone back into his lap. He wasn't surprised that Cas was upset with him, but he was a tad surprised that he'd take the time to text with proper grammar and spelling. Then again, this was the angel that informed Dean he'd pronounced 'wabbit' wrong that one time.

Boy, that'd been one messed-up case. Well, when _weren't_ their cases messed up. But, old Frank having his powers run away from him like that?

Sam felt another chill travel down his spine and he quickly turned his attention to the lyrics of the song on the radio. Last thing he needed was to think of himself in Frank's shoes. The very last damn thing.

Sam's long drive was filled with music, the never-ending struggle to not think about things, and the occasional text from Dean. Occasional texts that eventually amounted to numerous ones.

They were the tale of Dean and his ever-shrinking patience with an Archangel that wouldn't stop asking questions about just where the hell Sam had gone. And Dean, being an asshole, had cheekily informed Sam that he wasn't going to tell Gabriel where Sam had gone. He was going to let the Archangel stew and fume, because that was the best form of torture Dean knew how to dish out that wouldn't have Sam stomping Dean's ass into the ground when he got home.

The irony was that, in his attempt to make Gabriel a pent-up volcano ready to explode, Dean was exploding all over the place. Well, more like he was exploding Sam's phone. And Sam had often thought about turning off the phone, if he wasn't worried that one of the messages he received from Dean was going to be, 'My bad, Sam. I finally snapped. No need to go after Gadreel anymore. Gabriel's six feet under.'

By the time Sam was pulling in to the first motel he'd seen in Corpus Christi, Dean had fallen off the radar - some three hours ago - and Castiel had sent one text message, right after that, stating that he'd been informed about the Mark. Basically: Sam was finally getting some peace and quiet. The calm before the storm, as it were.

He checked in, got a key for a room on the first floor, and soon entered the small room he'd been given, bag on his shoulder.

Nothing set it apart from any other motel room he'd ever been in save for the distinct smell of cigarette smoke and the yellowed blinds, most likely caused from nicotine. Sam was no stranger to smoking rooms, they were cheaper, but he hated the smell. And this room didn't seem like it'd been 'aired out' all that much.

Didn't look like it, either. Sure the beds were sterile looking and crisp, but the dust he spotted on the generic scenery paintings hanging up on the walls gave him the impression that the cleaning staff had a loose definition of the word 'clean'.

He furled his nose up at the soft-looking, white pillows on the beds and hoped they didn't stink too bad. He was exhausted and he wanted his four hours, dammit. He didn't want the smell of cigarettes to ruin that.

He threw his bag onto the dresser, walked over to one of the pillows, and gave it a tentative sniff. Yeah, no, it still smelt a little like smoke. Luckily, the smell of bleach that clung to the cotton was stronger. All was not lost.

He set the alarm on his phone for one in the afternoon and then placed the phone on the nightstand. His pistol was placed under his pillow, safety on. Four hours, then he'd get up, shower, and go to Gadreel. Again: If Gadreel was still there.

It was nearing two o' clock by the time Sam arrived at the parking garage. Not a good time, for him. People that worked nine-to-five were, naturally, parked within the structure. Visitors to the city might be coming and going. Bottom line: There was a chance for traffic within the building. Traffic meant people who wouldn't understand why one guy was threatening another one with a shiny, silver blade.

Perhaps he should have waited until nightfall? No, that further increased his chances of 'something coming up' and the possibility of Gadreel not being able to show. It was now or never.

While Sam was paying for his ticket, his phone dinged. He groaned, thinking it was Dean again. Yet, when he looked at the number, he didn't recognize it. Frowning, he opened the message.

It merely said,_ "Second floor near the elevator."_

"Gadreel," Sam said to himself.

He had to be watching him, and the thought made the hair on the back of Sam's neck stand on end. He was glad he already had the angel blade tucked away, cleverly hidden within his sleeve.

It felt a bit awkward, trying to make sure the thing didn't fall out or accidentally poke him whenever he moved his arm, but it was the best hiding place for it. Angels used the trick with their sleeves all the time. Gadreel might not expect it with Sam. Plus, it was the fastest way to draw the weapon with minimal movement. If he had to reach behind him, Gadreel would know he was going to attack, and he'd retaliate with angelic strength.

Sam needed to move quickly and efficiently if he wanted to corner Gadreel.

He drove around in circles for a solid minute, trying to find a parking spot. The first floor was packed. Ironically, the second floor had one space free. At least, Sam had thought it ironic, at first. Until he noticed the car he'd parked beside on his left.

He'd seen it before. A black, late-80's Crown Victoria. Gadreel's car. Then he paid attention to the traffic cone he'd seen when pulling up. It sat in front of his parking spot, but he guessed that it'd once sat _in_ it.

Smart.

Of course, for it to have been moved back... Gadreel knew he was here. He _was_ watching him. Sam's fists clenched as he tried to ignore the prickly sensation that came with knowing that fact.

He turned to walk towards the elevator, at the other end of the garage, and nearly jumped out of his skin when his eyes left the floor.

Gadreel was standing in front of the elevator's doors, back as straight as ever with his arms by his sides. His head was held high while he watched Sam approach. Sam was just thankful he was far enough away that he couldn't have seen Sam startle. Not because Sam was embarrassed, but because Sam didn't want him thinking he was afraid.

"Clever!" Sam called out to him, voice echoing off the concrete encasing them. "With the traffic cone? I'm guessing the 'Out of Order' sign downstairs on the elevator was you, too?"

"Yes," Gadreel replied, voice carrying easily. "You might could say that I learned a few things from the best when it comes to being secretive."

Sam felt very uncomfortable at Gadreel's admission, because he knew Gadreel was talking about him. Him _and_ Dean. The ideas they came up with to get what they wanted, or needed, for a case. It'd been a while since Sam and Dean had had to use more..._secretive _measures to get information. They used to break into a house and wipe away their fingerprints when they were done. Now, they could just flash a fake FBI badge and nearly everyone did what they asked.

He loathed being the angel's teacher.

Sam was close now, only a few yards away. He reached into his pocket calmly, acting innocent, and pulled out his phone. He'd seen the way Gadreel had tensed for a moment, but when the angel spotted the device, he relaxed again.

Silly, naïve Gadreel. Once again, a phone was going to lead to his undoing.

"I have something you need to look at," Sam lied fluently. "I didn't know if you were using your own phone before, so I didn't send it to you."

"What is it?" Gadreel asked, curious, head tilting to look at the screen as Sam offered it to him.

"A red herring," Sam replied as Gadreel took hold of the phone.

Funny how Gadreel had managed to tilt his head at just the right angle to present his neck to Sam. The angel blade slipped from Sam's right sleeve, unnoticed.

Sam lunged, pressing the angel blade against Gadreel's neck as his left hand grabbed a hold of the angel's shoulder, his fingers digging painfully into the solid muscle beneath them.

Gadreel dropped Sam's phone in surprise, the battery flying out of it at their feet. He fell against the elevator doors with a loud bang, head smacking against it from the momentum. He grunted.

Sam continued to press against him, invading his space and forcing the blade against his neck to cut. Not much. Just enough for the angel to feel the danger he was in, to warn him not to retaliate.

And Gadreel did feel it. He froze, his whole body tensing as he opened his eyes to stare up at Sam. Despite the evident fear Sam could read from him, Gadreel _glared_ at him. He scowled in such a way that it came off as haughty.

That look was _familiar_, and for a split second Sam stopped thinking about the job at hand to ponder over _why_ it looked familiar. But only for a second.

"Now you listen to me, _Gadreel_," Sam seethed, dangerously quiet. "_I'm_ in control now."

Gadreel's glare flickered, mouth twitching with discomfort.

"I could end you right now, and God help me, I _want to_. But I need you alive. I need you to do something for me, and _you're going to do it_."

He shoved away from Gadreel, the angel grunting again, and lowered the blade to his side. He didn't put it away, though. No, that'd be a dumb mistake if he ever made one. Besides, he needed Gadreel to keep that fear of him. It was the only way Sam knew to keep him motivated.

Gadreel straightened himself up. Even at full height, he was still an inch or two shorter than Sam. It wasn't his height that made him intimidating, however. It was his demeanor. Try as he might, he couldn't get that back. Not now, while he furled his nose in disdain at the blade in Sam's hand. He paid no heed to the blood trickling down his throat in slow-forming droplets.

His eyes found Sam's again, and they were surprisingly attentive.

"Stop using the Angel Siren," Sam ordered.

"I cannot do that," Gadreel replied coolly. "Metatron has ordered me to rally Heaven's troops - "

"Then use the Horn!" Sam shouted, voice bouncing around them as he thrust the blade out to his side with an angry gesture.

Gadreel frowned, head tilting in confusion, "I am."

"No," Sam shook his head. "I mean the _actual_ Horn. You're using some fucking rip-off spell that draws power from Gabriel's Grace to mimic the Horn of Truth. _Metatron_ has the _real_ Horn. Ask him to use that. Take it from him. I don't care! Just stop using the Angel Siren!"

Gadreel leant his head back, studying Sam, "Why?"

"Because you're killing him!" Sam snapped.

Gadreel blinked at the rage in Sam's voice. But it hadn't just been rage. Sam's voice had cracked with another emotion, and there was no way Gadreel had missed it.

Sam clenched his jaw as he tried to keep his breathing even. Tried, and failed. His hand was shaking with how hard it was gripping the angel blade. He'd given too much away with his outburst. Dammit.

After a pregnant pause, Gadreel stated, "You care about him."

_Dammit!_

"Yes," Sam croaked. "And if you continue using that damn spell, I will hunt you down, again, and I will _kill_ you." He took a steadying breath, "I will not see you harm another person I care about, you son of a bitch."

To his surprise, Gadreel seemed to relax. He looked down to the floor for a moment, then looked back up at Sam. He was entirely too calm for Sam's liking, and there was a hint of something else in his features. Almost like amusement. Or approval.

"I was unaware my actions were causing harm to Gabriel," he spoke. Then, with a frown, he added, "In fact, Metatron didn't even inform me that Gabriel still lived, or that he was on our side -"

"He was never on your side," Sam spat. "He was a fucking hostage. He's with _us_. Y'know, _humanity?_ Something you _claimed_ to serve."

"If Gabriel claims to serve to humanity, and has been targeted by Metatron - and me, unknowingly - then I will do as you ask, if I can. I owe you that much."

"No, you owe me _more_." Sam growled.

Gadreel was silent a moment, eyes never once moving from Sam's own. A tense few seconds passed before Gadreel sighed through his nose.

"Yes," he admitted.

Sam frowned at the face staring back at him. Not for the emotion on it, the sad attempt to mask the uneasiness and guilt Sam sensed the angel was feeling.

No, it was the familiarity that had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since he'd thrown Gadreel up against the elevator.

_That_ look was still bothering him. And he was sure, the more they started at one another, that there was no doubt whose face he remembered seeing in Gabriel's nightmare. What angel had been chained to a darker-than-black wall with a bleeding wound and a righteous anger roiling in his being.

"You know Gabriel," Sam said slowly, distantly. "He was still in Heaven when they captured you."

Gadreel's fists clenched at his side, but the rest of him remained immobile. That look was back - the indignation. Something had happened between them. What was it? Sam couldn't recall. He hadn't picked up on it in the dream. Dammit, why was it gnawing at him? Why did he care?

"He was the Governor of Eden," Gadreel replied evenly, emotion keenly kept from his voice, as usual. "He was my superior. Ask_ him_ what happened, if you are so eager to learn of the past. Know this, Sam Winchester: I help him only because you asked it of me and, as you mentioned, I am indebted to you. I can aid him without ruining my mission. However, I care not what happens to him. I am sure he will feel the same about me."

Sam merely watched Gadreel for a moment, processing his words. He had his suspicions now, but...

"Do I have your word?" Sam asked, knowing the irony of asking such a question when he'd, technically, gone against his own by attacking Gadreel.

"You have my word."

Sam paused, and then he nodded, grip finally loosening on the angel blade at his side. Gadreel had made no move to attack him, even after Sam'd ambushed and threatened him. He was sure Gadreel wouldn't now.

Gadreel didn't relax his stance, but when did he ever? The angel had always kept perfect posture. Surprising, considering how long he'd been tortured. Backs often broke with spirits.

Sam nodded back towards the direction he'd come, back towards their cars.

"Go," he commanded. "We're done here."

Gadreel was silent. He stared at Sam with the same look he'd given him when they'd handed Gadreel over to Metatron. Then, just as he had days ago, Gadreel wordlessly walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty parking lot.

Sam was left behind, staring blankly at the ground before him. He felt remarkably...empty. Or tired. He couldn't quite place it. Soul-weary, perhaps? He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do. Whether or not it worked in the end he'd have to wait and see. For now, the fight had gone out of him.

He sighed and tucked the angel blade into his jacket. He didn't move until he heard the sound of Gadreel driving away. Walking over to his phone, he was relieved to see that the screen hadn't cracked. He popped the battery back in, turned the phone on, and went about texting Dean and Cas on his progress.

The 'meeting' was over, there was no verdict yet, but Gadreel had agreed to Sam's terms. It hadn't taken long at all. He'd driven fifteen-plus hours for a slight scuffle and some harsh words that lasted less than thirty minutes. But, it was worth it. And it was worth the fifteen-plus hour drive back to the Bunker. Because, now, Gabriel had a chance to heal. Then Dean might be able to get rid of the Mark's influence, after they took care of Abaddon, of course. Then they could focus on Metatron -

"Shit!" Sam exclaimed, looking back to the empty parking spot that had been Gadreel's. "Fuckin' forgot about the Door."

He sighed again.

"Well. At least I know praying works."

If Gadreel would answer him again. For some reason, Sam had his suspicions that Gadreel would. Even if it was just to tell Sam no, he wouldn't help reveal the location to Heaven. Sam would have to think of a reason for Gadreel to say yes. A small smirk quirked his lips briefly.

Let the tables turn.

Sam left the parking garage. He'd already checked out of the motel, so he didn't need to go back there. He'd had sleep. Now, he just had to drive back home, stopping only for gas and food.

His phone went off regularly. One text was from Cas, congratulating him and, again, telling him to stay safe. Many more were from Dean bemoaning his position as babysitter. And the last he received, as he pulled blearily into the Bunker's garage, was from another unknown number.

_"It is done,"_ was all it said.

Sam managed a small smile as he pocketed his phone and turned off his car. He gathered his bag from the trunk and made his way down into the main area of the Bunker.

He stopped as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He knew he'd texted Dean a rough estimate of when he'd be pulling in, but he hadn't really expected anyone to be waiting for him _at the stairs._ Especially not Gabriel, with his arms crossed and one seriously peeved frown on his face.

An eyebrow rose with a challenge, and Sam had a funny feeling he had some explaining to do. Or get eaten alive.

* * *

**A/N: Look on the bright side, Sam: His legs are shorter than yours, too. It's the telekinesis ya gotta watch out for.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is more of a filler to ease into something else. Still long, though. Tsk. -shrug- Ah well.**

**Also, to Sabriel's Child: No, the hint was not Sam's powers. That was more me smackin' y'all with a giant neon sign. The hint was more subtle. I make a bigger version of it again in this chapter.**

* * *

Sam took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and holding his head high at Gabriel's challenge.

"I regret nothing," he stated simply.

He walked around Gabriel, snickering silently to himself at how his words only made Gabriel more indignant, the Archangel bowing up in his peripheral as he passed him.

He didn't know how much Dean had told him, if he'd finally revealed to Gabriel why Sam had been gone for almost two days, and Sam wasn't about to fill him in if Dean _had_ kept his mouth shut. Not right now. Not if he could help it. Sam was tired, he just wanted to sleep, and he knew Gabriel was probably gunning for a fight. At the very least, he was looking for a confrontation and stern argument. Sam didn't have the mental or physical stamina for any of that right now.

"I can see that," Gabriel replied, a threat clinging to the edges of his words.

Sam shook his head as he continued towards his destination and ignored that threat. Gabriel was a lot of smoke and barely any blow. If he was going to act, he acted. He didn't usually give warnings. Sam was pretty certain he was safe from any divine wrath. Especially if Gabriel's calm gait behind him was anything to go by.

"Honey, I'm home!" Sam called out as they started through the library.

"He's asleep," Gabriel deadpanned.

"It's a little after six," Sam complained. "And I just texted him."

Gabriel hummed noncommittally. "Perhaps he went back to bed? You know Dean: Long nights and he's rarely willing to get out of bed before the cock crows."

Sam paused at that. Gabriel's voice was glib, and that was never a good thing.

Sam turned, frowning down at the Archangel behind him. Gabriel stopped as well, arms crossed as he stared blankly up at him. Worry started to prick at the back of his mind.

"Why do I get the feeling that's some sort of euphemism, coming from you?" Sam asked, dancing around the question he really wanted to ask.

Gabriel's brows rose once, acknowledging Sam's statement, but the rest of his face stayed impassive. A cold fury was burning in the back of his eyes. He was livid.

Maybe Sam was wrong in thinking he was safe from divine wrath, after all. Sam sighed, shutting his eyes and rubbing at them with his fingers.

"Please, tell me you didn't do anything to him," Sam muttered, dreading the answer.

"He fell asleep on his own," Gabriel answered, too cool for Sam's liking.

"Meaning he's staying asleep_ because_...?" Sam trailed off, giving Gabriel a disapproving look.

Gabriel shrugged lazily, eyes not leaving Sam's, fury not dissipating. "He could use the rest."

Sam nodded, unhappy with what may as well have been Gabriel's confession to putting his brother under. Well, keeping him under. Most likely just for the sake of this confrontation.

Sam wanted to get onto him about that, but he knew he should be treading lightly around Gabriel right now, even if he was unsure _why_ the Archangel was so pissed off. Plus...Gabriel wasn't wrong. Dean really could use the rest. He'd been answering Sam's texts well into the morning hours, resuming again not too long after. Not exactly healthy, even for a Hunter's standards.

With that in mind, he resumed his trek to the bedrooms. He still hadn't changed his mattress out for a new one, he'd kinda been too busy to, and so he wondered which room he should be headed for. Perhaps Gabriel's? The Archangel was up and about, obviously, and looked healthy enough to want to skewer him with his eyes. He didn't need the bed anymore, right?

"Wish you wouldn't do that," Sam mumbled, repositioning his bag on his shoulder.

"Yeah?" Gabriel asked, a slight inflection in his voice signaling just how rhetoric he'd meant that simple, little word to be. "And I wish you wouldn't run off without telling me where you're going."

Ah, there was the old fire Sam was used to hearing from Gabriel. The same sort he'd used when shouting at Dean about the Mark. At least, now, Sam had a good hint about what was bothering the other.

"I'm fine, Gabriel," Sam said. "Nothing bad happened. I don't even have a bruise on me."

They'd entered the hallway to the rooms. It was a big enough hallway for Gabriel to walk beside him, but the Archangel persisted in following directly behind. It unnerved Sam a little, and that's probably what Gabriel was going for. While staring daggers into the back of his neck. Who knew a worried Gabriel could be so much more terrifying than the regular one?

"Where did you go, Sam?" Gabriel nearly growled.

"Corpus Christi," Sam replied easily.

Gabriel was silent for a few seconds. "_Why?_"

Sam sighed.

They reached Gabriel's door, which was blessedly open. If he'd been made to stop and open it, Gabriel might've simply decided to prevent him from getting any further away from him. He could have grabbed him or locked the door with that annoying 'angel mojo' of his. Hell, he still had the opportunity.

The sheets on the bed had been made up. Nothing in the room seemed different than when Sam first brought Gabriel to it. He guessed that Gabriel hadn't spent longer in it than he'd needed to. Understandable. However, the thought kind of saddened Sam. There was a reason he kept mentally referring to it as _Gabriel's_ room...

God, he needed sleep so bad.

Sam flung his bag onto the floor just on the inside of the door as he stepped into the room. He turned to face Gabriel and took hold of the Archangel's face between his hands. Gabriel's harsh expression didn't lessen any, not on his end, anyway, but, with Sam's hands as large as they were on his face, it did kind of look a little less intimidating.

Sam managed not to smile at the effect. Gabriel probably wouldn't appreciate that.

"Gabriel," Sam began gently, "I am tired. I am blinking way longer than I should be. And you're pissed, so I have no doubt you're going to try and lecture me. But I'm _tired._ It's going to go in one ear and out the other. So, can we not do this until after I wake up?

"I'll be coherent. Maybe you'll even calm down a bit. At the very least, I'll be able to put up more of a fight when you tear me a new one. I'm sure you'll get a kick out of that. Just let me sleep."

Gabriel glared at him, lips slowly turning down into a frown as he squinted at Sam. One of those too-long blinks happened, again, and, still, Gabriel didn't respond.

"You can knock me out if you want?" Sam tried to tease.

It wasn't until after the words had left his mouth that he remembered there was more than one way to knock a person out, and he'd been thinking about psychically. Gabriel might take him to mean the other.

As if reading his mind, Gabriel replied, "Don't tempt me."

Sam frowned in annoyance at him. His mind was half-focused on the feel of Gabriel's jaw muscles moving under his palms.

"Fine," Gabriel relented, still ignoring the hands on his face. "Get your beauty sleep. I'll be waiting creepily for you to wake up. Might even don a clown costume for the occasion."

Sam flinched. Why did Gabriel know about that? ...Gabriel knew about Dean's crush on Dr. Sexy, why was he surprised about him knowing about the clown thing?

Sam patted the side of Gabe's face and smiled mirthlessly. "Please, don't."

He stood back, letting his arms drop to his sides, and turned to head for the bed. Screw changing into something more comfortable. Too much effort. He'd made it two steps forward before he remembered that dreams happened when sleeping. He refaced Gabriel, a finger raised.

Gabriel hadn't budged.

"If I," Sam hesitated a second and then motioned with his hands to indicate his whole head, "travel... Can you make sure that I just..._don't?_ Or that I don't pull something out again? You...really don't wanna know what's in there."

Gabriel huffed through his nose. "I already have a good clue what's in there, Sam. But...sure. I can babysit the brainwaves. If only because then you'll owe me for something, and I'll take my payment in the form of _an explanation_."

Sam rolled his eyes at the hard stare he was given.

"I was gonna tell you anyway," he groused.

Gabriel didn't look convinced but Sam didn't care. He, instead, walked over to the grey bed, flopped down on it face-first, and buried his face into the pillow. He sighed happily. Finally, he could shut his damn eyes for good.

"Your pistol is still in the back of your pants, Einstein."

Sam grabbed a hold of said pistol, shoved it under his pillow, and resumed his task of falling asleep. That task didn't take him long.

* * *

When Sam awoke, his first thought was about how he hadn't dreamt at all. This thought made him surprisingly grumpy, and it led to his second thought.

He scowled, glaring at the wall across the room. Gabriel hadn't just kept him from roaming, he'd merely shut off his brain entirely. No chance of freaky shit happening if there were no dreams. And that got under Sam's skin because it meant that Gabriel wasn't even going to bother trusting Sam when it came to controlling himself.

The second thought led to the third: Gabriel was pissed at him because he'd wandered off and Gabriel didn't trust him to protect himself, or not slip off the deep end. Either way, Sam was being treated with kid gloves. Again. Something he was oh-so-familiar with coming from Dean.

If he'd had hackles he would have raised them.

With a derisive snort, Sam pushed himself up on the bed and glared over towards the door.

His glare lessened for the shock of seeing Gabriel still standing in the doorway, still frowning at Sam.

He didn't seem as upset as he had earlier, his eyes were calmer, but that didn't improve Sam's mood any. Gabriel's anger may as well have simply shifted onto Sam.

Sam frowned back at him.

"Cute," Gabriel mocked blandly. "The bedhead on the left side of your noggin kinda ruins it."

Sam quickly swatted the side of his head and tried to pet his hair back into place, ridiculously embarrassed. He was angry! He needed to be able to fully express that without giving Gabriel more fodder to tease him with. Stupid hair.

"You weren't kidding about the creepily watching me thing, I see," Sam complained.

Once satisfied that, maybe, his hair had been tamed, he reached under his pillow and grabbed hold of his pistol. He dragged himself off the bed and held it loosely in his hand as he stood to face Gabriel.

A small part of him had kind of wanted the Archangel to see the gun and react. Preferably with a feeling of apprehension or even distrust. He wanted him to be _intimidated_. Yet, as Sam knew perfectly well, angels didn't give two-shits about guns. Gabriel didn't even glance down at the weapon. Sam's mood soured further.

"Nope," Gabriel replied.

"Where's Dean?"

Gabriel's eyes left his to stare at a point near the ceiling. Then he looked back at Sam.

"Library," Gabriel answered. "And, from the radio waves flitting around him, I bet he's on your laptop."

Sam frowned, this time in confusion. Gabriel's words made no sense. Sam had packed his laptop and taken it with him, for the express purpose of keeping Gabriel off it. However, when Sam looked down at the floor where his bag _had_ sat, it was gone. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

"Why does he have my laptop?" He accused, pointing at the now-empty space near Gabriel's feet.

Gabriel shrugged innocently, "I said I'd watch _you_. I never said anything about your precious technology, or underwear."

Yes, because he was so worried about his underwear, he wanted to snap. Yet, he knew if he brought up that topic, Gabriel wouldn't get off it. Or he'd just use it to joke more. And Sam was still not in the mood. His shoulders tensed as he glared at the other.

"And Dean didn't say anything about you standing there watching me sleep?" Sam demanded.

"He didn't see me."

"You - " Sam trailed off, working his mouth in confusion. "You can do that? The go invisible thing? You're strong enough?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "No. I can't yoink myself into a side dimension. Yet. I can, however, alter human perception. Which is similar to what I did for you this morning. You're welcome."

"Oh, I'm welcome?" Sam asked, aggravation clear.

Gabriel looked confused for a second. Sam stalked towards him.

"I asked you to make sure I didn't do anything dangerous," he seethed. "I didn't say to just shut off my damn brain so that, what, you wouldn't have to lift another finger? Is it really that damn inconvenient for you that you wouldn't even bother to just _monitor_ my dreams instead of forbid me from having them?

"I thought you said I needed practice. How am I supposed to get any without - "

"That's not why I did it!" Gabriel snapped, startling Sam. "Why would I tell you to do something only to turn around and prevent it from happening?!"

"Then why!"

Gabriel opened his mouth, and then he snapped it shut. Emotions were swirling around in his eyes as he stared up at Sam. Too many going too fast for Sam to accurately pinpoint what they were, but he couldn't see anger in there anywhere. Not anymore.

Gabriel looked down and away, breathing a little too hard to be calm. He was being defensive, and Sam frowned at the display. Why did Gabriel feel the need to be guarded _now?_ He hadn't seemed to be affected by anything else Sam had tried to yell at him for.

Gabriel shut his eyes in a grimace. When he opened them again, he was resigned. He wouldn't look at Sam.

"The last time you told me to knock you out, it was with the condition that you wouldn't dream," he muttered.

Sam gasped quietly. So, that was it. He remembered. Though, technically, it'd been the first time he'd asked Gabriel's _Grace_ to knock him out. And then again, and again, every night for about a week, because he'd been afraid to be dragged back into his mental Cage. He'd been afraid Gabriel's Grace would be angry with him.

God, that was over a month ago.

"Oh," Sam mumbled. "No, you're right, I...forgot about that."

Gabriel tried to hide the flinch that came after those words. He finally managed to pull his gaze from the floor and focused it on Sam's face. Such a melancholy look. Sam was distressed to think he was the cause of it, when he hadn't meant to be.

"Where did you go, Sam?" Gabriel pleaded. "And don't dodge the question this time. I've been stuck with your brother for two days, and he's done nothing but brag about how he wouldn't tell me. I can put two and two together. I know whatever the hell you did, you did it because of me. And that little kiss? That didn't help any. _What did you do?_"

Sam snorted, "What? Don't trust me?"

He'd said it with a smile, he'd meant it to be a joke, but Gabriel's look never changed. He answered Sam truthfully.

"It's not you that I don't trust, Sam."

Sam sighed, "Alright. Dean already knows; I guess I can tell you here. I went to see Gadreel."

Gabriel stared up at Sam, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Dangerous. And, you're right, shouldn't trust him as far as we can throw him. But... You know why I had to stop him. From using the Angel Siren, I mean.

"He agreed to stop using the Siren after I told him about Metatron having your Horn. It's not an ideal solution, but at least, now, you won't have to worry about random attacks."

Gabriel scoffed, "I won't? And how do you know Gadreel didn't just tell you what you wanted to hear?"

Sam shrugged, "He gave me his word."

Understanding flashed across Gabriel's features. He nodded slowly, looking past Sam's shoulder as he thought.

"He always was a stickler for that sorta thing." Gabriel glanced back toward him, "Okay: And how do you know Metatron didn't plan this?"

Sam frowned. Honestly, the thought had never occurred to him. It wasn't like he was _used_ to the idea of someone writing their lives down as part of some script to play out. Yeah, Chuck had visions, but that wasn't the same thing. Chuck didn't have angel mojo to force them to come true.

"I don't," Sam admitted. "But... You don't know that he didn't? That's a topic we could go in circles over for hours. But, if it makes you feel any better, I took the Demon. That sigil you placed on it still works, right? Got an area of effect?"

Some of the tension drained out of Gabriel's body. His shoulders relaxed, as did his growing scowl. He was the one who had warded Sam's car against Metatron's piercing gaze. He'd said it would make it harder for the angel to find them, even if it wasn't one-hundred percent foolproof.

Gabriel relented.

"Yeah. Not a very large one, but enough of one. I'm assuming you stayed close to the car?"

"We were in a parking garage."

Gabriel surprised Sam with a bark of a laugh. "Some place to have your dramatic meeting to discuss my fate. Whatever happened to the ol' summits?"

Sam risked a small smile. "Times are changing."

"Yeah, and now I feel like an old man," Gabriel replied, rolling his eyes.

His short-lived mirth was replaced by the grim expression he'd had before. He gave Sam a stern stare, lips pulled down into a frown. He shook his head once.

"Don't do that again, Sam," he spoke softly. "Don't risk yourself for my sake. And, if you do, because you're as stubborn as your damn brother, _don't keep it from me._ Don't leave me in the dark. ...I can't go through that again."

Sam was struck speechless, fretting over the tone of Gabriel's voice and what he was implying. He'd known he would upset Gabriel if he told him about the whole Gadreel thing, but he'd expected Gabriel to simply be _angry_ with him. And, yeah, maybe he'd worry, but Sam never thought he'd actually make Gabriel _scared. _He hadn't thought Gabriel cared _that_ much.

After all, Gabriel hadn't really acted too...touchy-feely, as Dean called it, with him. Not like the Grace had. He'd gone back into his shell - or he'd never left it - and so Sam thought they were back to square one on the whole friendship meter. Well, Sam obviously wasn't back to square one, but Gabriel seemed to have been.

He'd read the Archangel wrong. He hadn't meant to hurt him by not warning him before he left. And he was sure Dean's cruel prank hadn't helped matters any. Fuck.

"Okay," Sam agreed lamely. "Sorry."

Gabriel huffed with a small twitch of his lips. He stepped back, out into the hallway. Sam was still standing there, holding his gun like he had good sense. He awkwardly placed it into the back of this jeans.

"That makes two of us," Gabriel mumbled cryptically before he turned on his heels and began walking away down the hall.

Sam didn't ask him what he meant by that, he had a feeling Gabriel didn't want to tell him. Instead, he followed after the Archangel, trailing a few steps behind.

"Where are you going?" He questioned.

"To threaten your brother," Gabriel replied cheerily.

* * *

True to Gabe's words, Dean was sitting in the library. On Sam's laptop. And with the grin on his face, Sam could immediately tell he was up to no good. Only two reasons Dean would grin like that, all things considered. Either he was watching porn, or he was doing something wholly immature.

With that in mind, Sam decided to stay back and let Gabriel threaten Dean however he'd planned to. He doubted it would a violent threat, though most definitely a threat of violence. Small price to pay for the sanctity of his computer.

Dean didn't hear or see them as they approached, as Dean's back was turned towards them and they were both being particularly sneaky.

Sam smirked a little. He was used to being stealthy, silent, but watching Gabriel stride up behind Dean in a similar manner was funny for some reason. Probably because he was used to angels cheating and using their powers to vanish from sight. He hadn't expected one as boisterous as Gabriel to pull off the human way of doing it.

And he'd done a damn good job of it, too. Gabriel brought his arms into the air with mock cheer.

Dean was too busy chuckling at whatever was on the screen to notice.

"Dean!" Gabriel exclaimed merrily.

Sam watched as his brother's back went rigid, shoulders tense. As Sam moved closer to the table and around, he could see Dean's face harden into a scowl.

However, Dean didn't get a chance to move.

Gabriel had already been _right_ behind him when he'd announced his presence, and now he merely leant down and - surprising Sam - wrapped his arms loosely around Dean's shoulders and chest, bringing his smirking face dangerously close to Dean's.

Sam had to bite his lips to keep from grinning. Dean was pissed, but there was enough apprehension in him to know that jerking out of the grip of a not-too-friendly, at least with him, Archangel wouldn't be a good idea. He was trapped, and he was uncomfortable, and Sam was devilishly pleased by this development.

"If you pull that shit again regarding your brother," Gabriel told him impishly, "I will make you flaccid for the rest of your natural-born life, and no little, blue pill will save you."

Dean frowned in disgust as Sam coughed awkwardly. Okay, that was a...disturbing threat if he'd ever heard one. He'd imagined Dean's life to be threatened not his... yeah. Sam shook his head trying to force any gross images away before they came. And that was the _wrong_ word to think.

"Dude, get off me," Dean growled, shoving at Gabriel.

Gabriel allowed the shove, though he slapped a particularly nasty squeeze onto Dean's right shoulder. Dean grunted through the pain, nose twitching in an effort not to snarl. Gabriel's wicked smile never faltered as he walked around the table and sat beside Sam, who had taken the seat across from Dean. Dean glared at him.

Sam coughed again, this time trying to ease the tension in the room.

"You guys do that the whole time I was gone?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yes," two voices chorused. Dean hissing, Gabriel deadpan.

"Right," Sam rolled his eyes.

"So," Dean began conversationally, eyes lighting on Sam as he shut the laptop. "How's douchebag?"

"Douchey," Sam replied. "Stiff. But, amazingly agreeable. He sent me a text just as I pulled in saying that he'd managed to get hold of the Horn. Well, it said, 'It is done.'"

Dean snorted, "Like a fuckin' robot."

"What time is it, anyway?"

"One-thirty in the afternoon," Gabriel mumbled. "One-thirty-three, if you wanna be technical."

Sam glanced over at him, stunned at the Archangel's internal clock. Though, he really shouldn't be surprised, he supposed. He nodded in acknowledgement.

Gabriel had dropped the happy act and, once again, looked serious. Pensive, Sam would say. Probably because he was hearing a vague recount of what Sam had done. Again. While being reminded about how Dean had known the whole time, and Sam hadn't clued him in.

Sam flinched inwardly.

"When'd you get in?" Dean asked.

"'bout six."

"Wow. Where the hell was I?"

"Asleep," Sam answered, resisting the urge to turn and stare at Gabriel. "Didn't wanna wake you."

Dean frowned at him, displeased with that answer. Whenever one of them got back, if had they separated on a hunt, and the other was asleep, they usually woke each other to say, 'Hey, not dead.' Common curtesy, right? Sam foregoing that unspoken rule, for whatever reason, didn't seem to sit well with Dean.

"I sent you a text saying when I'd be in," he added lamely.

Dean sighed. "How's Cas?"

Sam froze. He'd momentarily forgotten that Dean didn't know Cas hadn't come with him. He'd also forgotten to tell Gabriel that Cas was even involved in his journey to go after Gadreel. Dean didn't catch his sudden unease, but Gabriel frowned in his peripheral. Oh, boy.

"Uh." Sam licked his lips, "He's fine. For the most part. Had to go back to his little group of angels, so he wasn't able to ride back with me."

Gabriel was staring at him, he could feel it, and it was all he could do to not start sweating bullets.

"I'm surprised your little 'meeting' went as well as it did. I mean, Cas is kinda the guy Metatron and Gadreel are after, right? And vice versa? And they weren't at each other's throats like cats and dogs?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "Two commanders meeting each other on the field of battle to negotiate terms? They treated the whole thing...respectfully, I guess."

Dean rolled his eyes, "More power to 'im. I still say it'd be better to shiv his ass and get it over with. But, hey, what do I know? I'm just the guy with the itchy trigger finger."

Sam had opened his mouth to argue with Dean's flippant dig about the Mark, but Dean had turned and nodded at Gabriel, causing the Archangel to raise a brow at him in question.

"Now that Sam's here, mind tellin' me what this _miraculous _cure of yours is for the Mark? The one you flat-out refused to tell me about before now because you're an asshole?"

"First of all," Gabriel began holding up a finger, "you wouldn't tell me about Sam, so I think we're even. Second of all," he held up a second finger, "the answer's no. Like I told Sam: I value my face, and y'all pull angel blades out of your asses like it's some sort of magic trick. You want the dealio? You ask Sam. I'm out."

Gabriel tried to push himself from the table, but Sam quickly grabbed ahold of his arm and yanked him back into his chair. Gabriel could have resisted, if he wanted to, but he hadn't. He plopped down, hard, chair legs screeching against the hard floor of the Bunker. He grumbled. Crossing his arms across his chest, he pouted towards the side of the room.

"I don't know the specifics, Gabe," Sam informed him. "Not like you do, and I don't think we want to risk something being lost in translation."

Dean smiled mockingly at the Archangel. Gabriel sighed loudly. He rolled his head to stare at Dean.

"Look: My bro slapped a brand on Cain's soul. It's _old_ magic. It's _original_ magic. Not something Pops came up with and passed down to his first-borns. So you're lucky that I just happen to know a good bit of my brother's tricks. I know how he thinks.

"There's a chance that I can go in and rewrite some of Lucifer's intentions, smudge up the Mark." Gabriel sighed through his nose, "Change the sigil, change the spell."

Dean nodded, "Okay. And where's the part where I want to stab you in the face?"

"He'll have to touch your soul," Sam informed. "Like Cas did with that kid Balthazar marked, remember?"

Dean took a deep breath in. For a second, he looked like he was going to consider Gabriel's offer. But Sam knew Dean, and that wasn't what that breath had meant at all.

"No," Dean said gruffly. "No way in Hell."

Gabriel shrugged, "Your call, big guy."

"Dean," Sam pleaded.

"I do _not_ want Mr. Butterfingers over there," he pointed harshly at Gabriel, "feeling up my most private of privates!"

"That's not -"

"I did threaten to make him impotent," Gabriel mused, looking at Sam as if Dean had a point.

"You're not helping," he told him. Sam looked back to Dean, "I know you don't want Gabriel..._inside_ you, or whatever, but it's better than the alternative, and you know it."

Dean's jaw tightened as he glared at Sam. He _did_ know it. However, his pride was a hard thing to smother. Sam wanted to challenge Dean about how Crowley had been inside _him_, and that Gabriel wasn't the worst person to be touching souls. He didn't, though. He just stared right back at Dean and made his brother face the music.

"If it's any consolation, Dean, I don't want to be touching your 'most private of privates', either," Gabriel sneered. "Who knows where it's been?"

Dean turned an interesting shade of red as he began to puff up. Sam waved his hands in frustration.

"Ssh!" He hissed, glaring at both of them in turn. "Just stop! I don't care that y'all hate each other's guts, I really don't. It's not important. Stow your crap and think about the problem at hand. Can you do that? Are you capable of acting like responsible adults? It's only Dean's _fuckin' soul_ on the line."

Both Dean and Gabriel shifted uncomfortably. It was clear they were still upset at one another, but Sam's words had chastised them well enough. Dean groaned and threw up his hands.

"Fine!" He snapped. "Let's get it over it with."

Gabriel frowned when Dean looked at him. He fidgeted again, looking down at the table.

"I can't yet," he mumbled.

Dean's brow rose, "You can't yet? _You can't yet?_ You're fightin' with me over something you can't even- Why are we discussing this, then?!"

"You asked," Gabriel threw back snidely.

"Oh my God," Sam complained, burying his face in his hands.

He'd known keeping Dean and Gabriel in the same room for long would be disastrous, but he hadn't realized the extent of just how _annoying_ the two of them could be when pitted against each other. The little scene they'd had back at Elysian Fields was like a friendly disagreement compared to this shit. And the fact that they'd been stuck together while Sam had been gone? How had they not ripped each others throats out with their teeth?

"I'm not healed enough," Gabriel continued. "I won't be for a while. A week, at least. It takes a lot of concentration to touch a human soul.

"Then there's the matter of _keeping_ that concentration while your pesky, little soul does flips to get away from me. Don't flatter yourself, though, Dean, it's not you, it's all souls. They jitter around like butterflies. They go apeshit when you poke them too hard.

"And, of course, there's the matter of going toe-to-toe with my brother's magic, which isn't going to be a walk in the park. I'll need juice I ain't got right now for that. So, yeah, Dean: I can't yet. Not unless you wanna explode and wipe the Bunker off the map?"

A hush descended upon their little group. Dean's anger had turned down to a mere simmer as he digested Gabriel's words.

Meanwhile, Sam was just trying to figure out the mechanics of what Gabriel was describing. He remembered the time Castiel had...had shoved his hand _into him_ to check for a soul that wasn't there. He didn't remember the pain, only that he'd felt it and that it'd been intense. And that had only been for a short amount of time. But what Gabriel was implying... He'd be in contact with Dean's soul for longer. A _tainted _soul that would writhe at the contact.

Sam grimaced. Gabriel's plan wasn't going to be pretty, but a week's time was the shortest option they had compared to their other ones: Hunt down Cain, or simply wait for Dean to turn.

Dean eventually sighed, whole body sagging.

"Alright," he muttered. "If it's the only option I got, we'll just have to wait. We gotta wait until after I kill Abaddon, anyway. And Crowley's being a dick. Won't hand over the First Blade until he's ready. Looks like you get your down time, angel."

Gabriel smiled ruefully in reply.

"Week, huh?" Dean continued. "Guess it's a good thing I found us a case to pass the time."

Gabriel squinted at him, frowning. "I don't do cases."

It was Dean's turn to smirk, "Oh, yeah, you do. We're not leavin' your sorry ass here while we go save people. There's no tellin' _what _you'd get up to."

At the mention of a case, Sam's attention had been drawn to his laptop. So, maybe Dean hadn't just been abusing his computer and was actually trying to get something done. Sam reached forward, grabbed his laptop, and slid it across the table towards him. Dean opened his mouth to object.

"Really?" Sam asked, opening the laptop, "What about?"

What was on the screen was not information on a case. Not specifically. The tags at the top of the browser confirmed that Dean _had_ been researching something, but what the opened tag was was a paused video on YouTube. Of cats. _Hilarious_ cats, if the title was anything to go by. Sam looked up from his laptop's screen to stare imploringly at his brother.

Dean floundered, opening and shutting his mouth repeatedly as he tried to explain himself with his hands.

"More of dog person, myself," Gabriel mumbled, tilting his head to look at the screen.

"Cat videos?" Sam finally asked, unable to resist.

"I got distracted, okay!" Dean exclaimed, this time turning red from embarrassment. "I was looking up videos of animal attacks, one thing led to another, and... Leave me alone, it was funny! One falls into a fuckin' fish tank while it's sleepin'!"

"Uh-huh. So, what about a case?"

Dean explained, as Sam flipped through the tags, about an obituary he'd come across when searching for, well, strange shit. He'd keyed in the regular culprit that often pointed to supernatural shenanigans: Weird animal attacks. Not being one to waste time, he'd clicked the first result that had looked vaguely promising.

Turned out, a few people were found ripped apart in very gruesome ways in North Wales, Pennsylvania. The news was warning about possible wild dogs in the area, or rabid ones. The authorities didn't seem to have a complete profile on the canine criminal, but they were pretty damn sure a dog was the culprit. And Dean, being a Hunter, had mentally made a list of every monster that could fit the description.

Werewolf and skinwalker had soon been ruled out. As far as he could find, the hearts had been left behind. Hellhound was a _very_ good possibility, however. Four people dead within a week's time, all from the same nasty death? If a demon had made the rounds in the town, yeah, it was plausible.

He'd even taken the time to look up some videos about _regular_ dog attacks just to see the power they had behind them, to make comparisons for when they checked out the bodies. ...And, then one thing led to another and he found himself watching a cat startle off a bed and fly face-first into a wall.

Dean wanted to leave _yesterday._ He was nearly bouncing in his seat at the idea of hunting something, and Sam reluctantly agreed with him that, if this was a case, they should do something about a Hellhound. They still remembered the trick with Holy Fire and glasses, they could scope the place as they went about inspecting the families of the victims.

Sam's only complaint was the drive, not that he voiced this aloud. He'd already spent one long car ride smushed into the backseat with an Archangel. He remembered the annoyingly loud music Dean had made him and Gabriel suffer through. He remembered the car arrest Dean had put Gabriel on and the passive-aggressive act of giving Gabriel a coloring book to occupy his time. He remembered that, still, there were _My Little Pony_ drawings stuck to the fridge.

God help him, but he didn't want to imagine the ride to Pennsylvania. He still had some sleeping pills left. Maybe he could tranquilize himself, like a dog, and just sleep through the whole thing. Tell Gabriel to monitor him - _not_ cut off his dreams, this time - and check out.

He groaned internally. That plan wouldn't work. It wouldn't be fair to Gabriel to leave him alone with Dean and his mullet rock. Dammit.

With Sam's acceptance of the hunt, Dean cheerfully told them to be ready in the morning. They'd be driving out first thing. Until then, he was going to go for a spin and Sam and Gabriel could do whatever the hell they wanted. Sam had a funny feeling he was insinuating something, and Dean, having caught on that he probably was, too, made a face and walked back towards his room to get his jacket.

Gabriel had been silent for the whole discussion of Hellhounds and death, his face stuck on bored disapproval. He didn't even crack a joke at Dean when he'd left.

Sam frowned, unsure what Gabriel's moodiness was about.

"I'm going to have brand his car, or something in it," Gabriel mumbled as Dean's footsteps died away, eyes still in the direction Dean'd gone.

"Why?"

Gabriel gave him a look.

"Oh, right. Metatron." Sam cringed a little, "I suggest 'something in it.' I think Dean would actually murder you via Holy Fire if you branded his car. You should have seen his reaction when Abaddon carved a message into it. He actually collapsed to the ground in despair."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. He then sat up and stretched, arms over his head. He deflated with a loud sigh.

"I'm gonna die," he complained.

"It won't be that bad?" Sam tried to lessen the blow.

"It's your brother. And me. In a car. For _days_." Gabriel stressed.

Well, at least he knew, too.

Sam shrugged. "You could always get your own motel room."

"He won't even let me stay _here_ by myself. He wouldn't let me leave the _car_ by myself. There's no way he's letting me have a _room_ by myself. ..._Dick_."

"You could get a motel room with me?"

Sam wasn't going to lie, he'd purposely meant to flirt with that comment. He kinda wanted to test the waters on where he and Gabriel stood, especially after that vulnerability Gabriel had shown earlier regarding him. And, y'know, that small peck of a kiss he'd given on accident while his mind had been elsewhere.

Instead of taking the bait and joking back, as Sam had hoped, Gabriel had tried to hold back a flinch. Sam wasn't going to admit how much that cut him. Okay, don't test the waters. Got it. He sighed.

"Anyway," he mumbled. "There was something I wanted to ask you. Two things, really."

Gabriel looked at him hesitantly, and Sam figured he probably thought he was going to bring up _them_. And that hurt, too. Not that Gabriel saw. Sam's face didn't even so much as twitch.

"Cas told me to tell you to train me regarding my powers," Sam said. "And that, if you wouldn't, I should make you."

Gabriel snorted, relief in showing in the set of his shoulders and the easy smile that broke across his face.

Sam looked away at that.

"Yeah, sure. I suppose I could do that. 's not all that hard, once you got the basics."

"Yeah, okay." Sam fiddled with his hands, "And there was something Gadreel said."

Sam looked up at Gabriel. Gabriel seemed curious, but not wholly interested in whatever Gadreel had allegedly said.

"He said something about you being the Governor of Eden."

Gabriel inhaled sharply, eyes quickly darting away from Sam's. The Archangel stared intently down at the table, frowning at it. He seemed worried, at first. Until Sam looked closer and realized what he was actually seeing was sorrow. Very faint, well-kept sorrow. Sam frowned.

"Brought that up, did he?" Gabriel asked, voice lifeless.

"What's it mean?" Sam questioned carefully.

"Nothing," Gabriel replied. "Not anymore."

"He was the angel I saw in the dream, wasn't he." Sam stated, already knowing the answer. He just needed Gabriel to confirm it.

"Yup," Gabriel shrugged. He frowned and looked over to him, "That was a long time ago, Sam. A _very_ long time ago. And all I'll tell you is that I made a choice. And I made the wrong one. It wouldn't be the last time, either."

Gabriel stood, confusing Sam further. Sam stuttered, quickly rising to his feet as well. Gabriel was already walking away.

"Where are you going?" Sam nearly demanded.

Gabriel sighed, stopping, and then turned to glance over his shoulder at him. "Your brother hid my popcorn in the kitchen, because he's an ass, and I fully intend to find it. And then we're going to watch _Game of Thrones_. Because, this time, Metadouche can't stop me."

Sam was left speechless as he watched Gabriel walk away. He had a feeling that the Governor of Eden thing was a lot more important than Gabriel wanted to admit. Why else wouldn't he want to admit it? Something big had gone down, and Sam wanted to know what. But Gabriel wouldn't tell him. And he'd be damned if he willingly asked Gadreel.

Maybe one day Gabriel would let him in. Or not. What did it matter now? They had half a day to waste before bedtime, and the Archangel, apparently was dead set on watching a fantasy television series. Who was Sam to stop him?

He went to follow Gabriel, before he realized he'd be leaving his laptop and bag - wherever the hell Dean'd stashed it - in the library _again_.

"Uh."

He shut his laptop and picked it up, holding it against his chest as his eyes scanned the room, looking for his bag. He turned in a little circle, walked around the tables. Still he couldn't see it.

"_Dean,_" he complained to the wind.

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**A/N: "Review," the wind whispers to you, sounding suspiciously like the voice of a writer who no one likes talking to, apparently.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: If you were expecting The Hunt so soon, I apologize. I would also like to warn the squimish that there are animal deaths within this chapter, but they are not real animals - not even in the fic universe. Two different songs gave me inspiration for this chapter, and they were "We're All To Blame" by Sum 41 and "Angels" by XX. With that said: Have fun~**

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They left the Bunker, as Dean had said, first thing in the morning.

Dean was annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and it wasn't from the two cups of coffee he'd downed or the fat-filled breakfast he'd gobbled. No, it was something else.

Sam just hoped it wasn't the prospect of killing things. Saving people was one thing. That was fine. But being joyful at the idea of slaughtering something did not bode well for one slowly-turning-demon Hunter. Not that Dean didn't regularly enjoy putting down evil, but he used to at least mask his 'heroic pride.' Now...not so much.

Sam didn't like the idea of something changing his brother. He didn't like thinking about how it amplified certain negative qualities of him, of humanity in general. That's what demons were, right? Twisted humanity. The destructive force that was selfish, greedy, and cruel. Dean wasn't that. Sure, he had his moments, but he wasn't..._that._

But the Mark wanted to make him that way. Lucifer had wanted all of humanity to be that way. Corrupt one human, watch it fall, and let it take all of its little, disgusting friends with it. He couldn't be bothered to simply wipe the species out by his own hand. He wanted them to destroy themselves with the disease he saw within them. He was sadistic, and he craved irony.

Sam could see where Gabriel got it from, unfortunately.

But Sam had beaten Lucifer before, he'd survived the trauma done to him in the Cage, if with a little help, and he'd help Dean do it, too. They just had to wait.

Speaking of Gabriel, the Archangel took Sam's advice regarding the protective sigil and Dean's car. Instead of marring any sacred surface of the Impala, he carved the mark into a small scrap of metal they found in the garage at the tool desk. Metal was better than paper, he'd explained, as paper could easily be destroyed, or the marks erased.

Sam thought back to the angel warding Metatron had wiped away like it was nothing. And the Holy Fire. He doubted carvings stood a better chance against the power the Angel Tablet provided Metatron, but in regards to normal tampering, Gabriel was right.

They placed the piece within the glove box. Dean was informed of its importance and told to leave it there. He wasn't happy about it, because it was some of _Gabriel's_ bullshit, but he understood the importance, and usefulness, of staying under Metatron's radar. Especially with Gabriel traveling with them for a twenty-one hour car ride. ...And that was just the time it'd take to get to North Wales. That didn't count for the gas, bathroom, food, and sleep breaks.

Luckily for them, a small piece of metal was easily able to be brought into motel rooms. When Dean snarkily asked Gabriel why the Archangel hadn't just done something like that before, insinuating _before_ he got captured, Gabriel pretty much told him to piss off.

Sam gave Gabriel a sympathetic look as he situated himself in the backseat, Gabriel to his right. He knew that Gabriel had unknowingly walked into Metatron's trap because he'd heard his own damn horn blow. He knew how angels flocked to the sound. It was like laying bait for a deer and waiting with a rifle in your hand. They don't know any better.

For this trip, Sam came armed with his laptop, fully charged and equipped with his wireless modem, and a small bag of books. He felt even more cramped with the books piled near his feet, but they had their purpose. He'd picked up one from the Men of Letters' collection titled _Different Breeds of Spectral Hounds, _positive he'd learn something more about hellhounds than they already knew. As for the rest, they were for entertainment purposes. His current book in the _Game of Thrones_ series was included, of course, as well as some C.S. Lewis and Lewis Carroll he'd stumbled upon.

Gabriel did what Sam expected him to. Not five minutes into the trip, the Archangel dove for the bag of books. Sam smirked at him, pleased with himself when Gabriel came up holding _The Great Divorce_. Sam wasn't entirely sure what it was about, having only skimmed through parts of it, but he knew enough to see the irony in Gabriel's choice.

Sam booted up his laptop and searched for any new obits that could fit what they were looking for. He prayed there hadn't been another attack. He didn't want anyone else to die before they could get there. And, thankfully, nothing new turned up. Maybe the hellhound had left? It was wishful thinking, and Dean would be pissed to show up only to find out the dog had moved on, but still.

Then, because Sam liked being prepared, he searched for any motels in North Wales. One seemed promising and cheap. He and his brother were very familiar with that brand of motel. When he glanced at the street name, he snorted.

"What are you laughin' about?" Dean asked, glancing into the rearview mirror to see Sam.

"Uh," Sam grinned. "Found a motel in North Wales."

"Why's that funny?"

"Street name is _Bethlehem _Pike."

"Ha ha. Ha. I'm dyin' over here," Gabriel deadpanned, turning a page in his book.

"Say anything 'bout pets?" Dean questioned.

Gabriel's gaze slowly left the page he was on to stare at Dean. Sam couldn't resist, grin threatening to stretch further across his face.

"Uh, yeah. An extra twenty-five. Oh, but wait. There's an eighty-five pound limit. Sorry, Gabe. We'll leave the windows rolled down for you."

Sam hadn't been expecting Gabriel to physically retaliate against his teasing. He let out startled yelp, followed by a laugh, as Gabriel smacked his arm with the book. His laugh died down to giggles as the Archangel slunk down into the seat, bringing the book mere inches in front of his face, as if it would shield him from the ungrateful humans he was traveling with.

"Get your knees off the seat," Dean groused.

Gabriel complied, flopping his legs over. The position he was in looked uncomfortable as hell, but Gabriel didn't seem to mind. Either because he didn't or because his pride was too great to show his discomfort, Sam was unsure.

Sam simpered as he faced his computer. He reached over and patted Gabriel on the shoulder in sympathy, and then he cut his eyes back to him.

Gabriel was glaring at him with narrowed eyes and an indignant pout. Sam withdrew his hand with another grin.

He knew they'd made a little pact yesterday while piled up Sam's room - a new mattress drug from an adjacent room now on his bed - to team up against Dean. Or, at the very least, have each other's backs against the wrath of his cranky, older brother. But it was so fun to annoy Gabriel.

And, truth be told, Sam was trying to get the Archangel to drop his guard, to _open up_. Gabriel was going to be with them for a while, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. He was on the run from Metatron, he refused the help of (and to help) the angels and Castiel. He'd chosen the Winchesters, again, and he was going to have to get used to it. He was going to have to adjust to how they did things.

They hunted monsters, they drove everywhere, they ate diner food and slept on lackluster beds in cheap motels, and they teased each other. Constantly. Sometimes it got a little out of control, but not often.

Gabriel was used to being on his own, and Sam understood that. But he didn't have to be. Not anymore. He could _let go_. He just had to see it.

They settled back into a comfortable silence. Dean finally turned the radio on, but he kept it low enough that talking wasn't out of the question. Gabriel went back to his book. Sam thought about picking up his own, but his computer was already open and he thought, what the hell?

He fooled around on Google maps, scoping their destination out. It was a small, suburban-type area, from what he could tell. Multi-story houses. Plenty of lush vegetation that looked natural, rather than boring, sculpted shrubbery here and there. Well-kept. He could see the age of the area in the thinner roads and the style of architecture.

He liked it. It was a shame there was a possible hellhound haunting the place.

However, what intrigued Sam was that North Wales wasn't sparse. It wasn't in the middle of nowhere, or with houses far apart. Why would a demon risk making that many deals in such a place? What, or who, had summoned it? Sure, there were crossroads everywhere, the area was built almost with a grid plan, but... Ten years roll around and there's four deaths so far? In that tight-knit of a community?

Sam shook his head.

Well, they'd seen stranger things in their line of work. Not all Crossroads demons stuck to Crowley's ethics or methods. Hell, he couldn't even be sure it _was_ a Crossroads demon responsible. Hellhounds could be summoned in other ways for other reasons.

They wouldn't know until they got there.

When they reached Dayton, Ohio, Dean called it quits for the night. He was tired of driving, claimed Baby was tired of driving, Sam's computer had been dead for hours, and Gabriel had read every damn book Sam had brought with him - minus the spectral hounds one and Sam's - because angels can speed read. Lucky them.

Sam was genuinely envious of that skill. He could have the whole Men of Letters collection read in no time. It would seem like the knowledge was simply downloaded into his brain. But, no. He had to do it the slow, human way. ...When he had the time.

The motel they pulled into was nothing worthwhile. Two floors, all with doors facing the parking lot. Cream-colored paint with dark red doors. It was clean, though, Sam was happy to note. That was a good sign. Hopefully, the inside would be in similar condition.

Dean popped the trunk and then left to get their rooms while Sam and Gabriel extracted themselves from the backseat. It hadn't been the first time they'd exited the vehicle on this trip, what with Sam's bathroom breaks and Gabriel's insistence that they stop at an actual restaurant for food because he was tired of stealing Sam's gummi worms when he wasn't looking.

(And this had lead to a fun conversation about angels not needing food, Gabriel not giving a damn, and Dean fuming over the waste of time. Dean had only relented when Sam had pleaded for real food, too, and turned up the puppy dog eyes to eleven. Naturally, as it turned out, Gabriel had been craving pancakes.)

Nevertheless, Sam's knees felt like the creaky hinges of a door when he stretched to his full height, arms raised over his head and fingers linked together. Gabriel groaned behind him. Sam looked over his shoulder and saw the Archangel standing, back towards him, in a similar stretch. Sam frowned, dropping his arms. Slightly awkward...accidentally copying Gabriel. Or had he copied Sam?

"I hate cars," Gabriel moaned, dragging his hands down his face.

"Really?" Sam mused, small smile at the corner of his lips as he bent into the car to get his stuff. "'Cause you didn't seem to have much of a problem with mine."

"Okay," Gabriel conceded, looking down at Sam through his open door. "I hate being driven across the great US-of-A. Do you have any idea how big this damn continent is? There's a reason driving cross-country went out of style, Sam."

"Uh, yeah," Sam nodded, placing his bag into the crook of his arm and clutching his laptop to his chest. He stood and looked at Gabriel across the top of the car. "It's called gas prices."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, "Don't get me started on that topic. Not unless you wanna hear a rant worthy of Greenpeace."

Sam snorted, slamming his door shut, "Didn't expect you to be so environmentally friendly. Ya gonna shut your door, or do you want me to do it for you?"

The door shut without Gabriel even lifting a finger.

Sam wasn't used to such easy displays of power coming from angels. Not without reason, in any case.

Cas used to pop in and out all the time, throw demons against the wall and smite monsters. He'd heal them, if they got too bad off. But those were all important things that were kind of really needed. Gabriel, on the other hand, used his telekinesis for the smallest of issues. He'd made Dean not see him simply because! (Probably to spite Sam by allowing the oldest Winchester to make off with his computer.)

It was weird, traveling with an angel that didn't really care if he flaunted his power.

Maybe Gabriel wasn't the only one that needed some adjusting.

Sam frowned and shook his head. "Grab that sigil from the glove box, wouldja? Don't think it'd do us much good in the - "

Gabriel snapped and the piece of metal was suddenly in his hand. And from the small twinkling in his eyes while he stared back at Sam, lazily waving it around, Sam could figure out he was in another one of his impish moods.

Sam groaned internally. Maybe Gabriel was like a gremlin? Only, instead of not getting him wet, they shouldn't make him ride in cramped quarters for half a day.

"Okay," Sam began. "Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" Gabriel asked with mock innocence, swaying from side to side a little.

"The powers thing."

"I'm stretching," Gabriel replied. "Catch."

Sam jerked, hastily reaching up with his right hand as the metal spun in the air towards him. He caught it, thankfully. It would have smacked him in the face if he hadn't. However, the bag of books on his arm hitting him under the ribs hadn't felt too good. He grunted.

"You woulda felt really funny if that'd stabbed me in the face," Sam griped, Gabriel already walking towards the motel front.

"Nah. That hard head of yours works just like a helmet, Sam!"

Sam cut his eyes to the sky, mentally pleading for one Celestial Father to come collect his misbehaving child. He solidified his theory about Gabriel being a gremlin. Sam could only imagine what was going to happen once they got into the motel room. He'd have to make sure he checked everything in the room before using it. He didn't put Gabriel past pranking him, not with this mood.

Seeing as how Gabriel had just left him, and Dean was still in the lobby, Sam was stuck pulling their bags out of the trunk. It took some maneuvering. He had to put his books down to grab his bag, which he then put his laptop and the sigil in, sling that over his right shoulder, pick his books back up. Dean's bag got his left shoulder. When he finally shut the trunk, he felt like a pack mule. The weight was nothing, but the sight of so much stuff clinging to him...

He scowled at Gabriel, who was relaxing beside one of the support columns near the entrance to the lobby. Dean had just walked outside, papers and keys in his hand.

Wait. Oh, no, don't tell him. Sam sped towards the two as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Good news!" Dean proclaimed with a smug smile as Sam approached. "They had two king rooms available. _I_ am in room fifteen. _You two_ are in room eighteen. Yours even comes with a hair dryer, Sammy!"

Sam couldn't help but feel the sense of dread that rushed through his veins as he came to stand in front of Dean. He worked his mouth nervously.

"Why-why'd you get two different rooms?" Sam almost squeaked.

Dean merely gave him a look before replying, "Don't make me answer that. Gimme my bag."

Sam frowned at him but complied. Dean took his bag without a word of thanks. Not that Sam cared, he was too busy inwardly panicking.

Normally, Sam wouldn't mind Gabriel rooming with him. He kinda liked the idea. The problem was that Gabriel hadn't liked the idea. Not when Sam had brought it up the day before. In fact, Gabriel'd _flinched_.

And Sam _knew_ why. It was the same thing Dean was thinking about. They both thought that sticking Sam and Gabriel in the same room together - with only one bed, at that - would end up with something happening between the two of them. A thought that Gabriel, apparently, didn't wanna think about. The Archangel, obviously, didn't approve.

Sam didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

He didn't like how cold the thought of Gabriel's distance made him feel. How it left him wondering what he'd done wrong. How he kept trying to tell himself, hey!, to each their own, while ignoring the feeling of crumbling apart.

At least when they were all together he could focus on just the friendship and rivalry.

Dean walked away with a warning for them not to stay up too late. He'd meant it as a joke and a playful dig. Unfortunately, he didn't know how that dig felt more like a knife twisting in Sam's chest.

Sam glanced back at Gabriel, expecting the Archangel to be frowning again. To be upset that they were stuck together, after all.

Oddly, his mood hadn't seemed to change. He was twiddling the card key in his fingers with a dexterity that didn't seem normal. Especially not for someone with so short a finger length. He brought his eyes to look up at Sam and there was nothing but that devious twinkle in them.

Some of the tension, the dread, drained from Sam's body. Now, however, it was replaced with confusion. Why had Gabriel flinched before? Why didn't he flinch now? What was going on in the Archangel's head? Sam was on untrodden ground, and he didn't know where to go.

"Well, don't you feel all grown-up, getting your own room and everything?" Gabriel teased. "Catch."

"No!" Sam exclaimed, but Gabriel flicked the card up towards him anyway.

Sam hurried to catch it. It was, once again, aimed towards his face. Once again, his books slammed into his side. The card was caught between his hands as he slapped onto it mere inches away from his nose.

He glared down at Gabriel as the Archangel began to walk towards their room number.

Gabriel was smirking as he passed, head forward and ignoring Sam. He put his hands in his pocket and began to whistle some merry-sounding tune that Sam didn't recognize.

Something clicked in Sam's mind.

"You're getting back at me for the pet comment!"

Gabriel threw a shit-eating grin at Sam from over his shoulder as he continued to walk away. Sam's jaw dropped in outrage.

"You piece o' shit!" He accused.

Gabriel only cackled, throwing his head back and probably feeling very pleased with himself.

Sam fumed. "You better not touch my stuff!"

He jogged after him. He wanted to tackle the asswipe, but he knew that wouldn't work too well. He'd probably just bounce off Gabriel as if the Archangel was made of rubber. Or concrete. That last thought didn't sound too pleasant, which is why Sam settled with simply trying to roast him alive with his disapproving glare as Gabriel stopped to stand outside their door.

"I regret nothing," Gabriel sing-songed when he saw Sam's look.

He watched Sam like a cat as Sam reached him and went about unlocking the door.

"Using my own words against me?" Sam grumbled, pushing the door open.

"You should know better than to give a Trickster ammo," Gabriel practically purred.

Sam's crossness turned down a notch when he stepped into the room and looked around.

"Wow."

The first thing that drew Sam's attention was the bed. Naturally, being a king-sized, it was humongous. Sam had seen his fair share of king-sized beds in his life, but the sheer size of them never ceased to amaze him. Even as a big guy who sometimes liked to sprawl out, he still couldn't see why anyone needed that big of a bed. (Minus the sexual jokes his brain was coming up with because his brother wasn't there to make them.)

The comforter on the bed was actually colorful - faded reds and blues with golden geometric patterns and flowers. The headboard was light wood, as well as the rest of the furniture in the room, and matched well with the cream-colored walls. A coffee table sat near the door along with two chairs with blue cushioning. The dresser, across from the bed, was long. A large TV sat on top of it. The bedside table sat between the bed and a chair. On it was a cord phone, a wall lamp directly above. The bathroom was in the back.

The room was huge and spacious thanks to the lack of another bed.

This was nothing like the one he'd stayed in when going after Gadreel. Sam could _breathe _in this one. Without the smell of smoke, thankfully.

"If this is your definition of 'wow,' you need to broaden your horizons," Gabriel said, passing by him and headed for the bed.

Sam frowned at him, moving to place his bag on the dresser. "It's just that I wasn't expecting this much room. Why? What's your definition of 'wow?'"

"Well, for one, there'd be a lot more red."

He let himself fall onto his rump on the end of the bed. The bounce he made and the sneer of discomfort told Sam how stiff the mattress was. Gabriel frowned down at the bed and patted it.

"This would be a bajillion times softer." He nodded towards the headboard, "That would be gold." Next, he nodded towards the TV, "That would be a flat screen with access to every channel on the planet. American shows are only so entertaining, and I have the little added perk of being able to understand all languages."

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something else and Sam held up a hand to stop him. Gabriel's jaw snapped shut.

"Yeah, well," Sam started, "sounds nice and all, but I don't have money coming out of my ass."

Gabriel blinked, leaning back with his palms supporting his weight on the bed. "I could help you with that."

Sam cringed, "No. No, I'm good."

Gabriel shrugged, "Suit yourself."

Yes, Sam would suit himself very much, thanks. He didn't want to envision dollar bills or gold coins coming out of places they shouldn't. He remembered tales of young girls vomiting gold and jewels, and that was cool and everything, but he was _not_ going to be the next victim with it coming out the wrong end.

Luckily, the laidback pose Gabriel was in was enough to distract Sam from that image. He was relaxed, almost inviting with the way his arms were back, his ankles crossed, looking up at Sam with his head tilted down. Why was he so damn attractive just sitting there, looking coy?

Sam jerked his head away from the sight, quickly fiddling with his bag to get out a pair of sleep clothes. Okay, so Gabe was attractive. But he wasn't interested, and Sam should stop being distracted by things he couldn't have.

Good plan. He should follow it. ...If only his body would get with the program.

"I'm going to take a shower," he mumbled to his clothes, "and get ready for bed. There's no telling when Dean'll want to leave, and I'm kinda tired from the trip."

When he looked over at Gabriel, the Archangel shrugged again, already wiggling his way up the bed to sit against the headboard. The TV came on, seemingly, by itself, yet Sam knew better.

Remembering who he was with, Sam warned, "No porn."

Gabriel scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "You are _no fun_."

Sam made a face at him, gathered his clothes, and walked towards the bathroom.

He hoped Gabriel didn't intend to sit on the bed the entire night while he slept. Sure, it was big enough for him to without Sam ever having to worry about accidentally touching him, but... His nerves were up again, and he'd probably never fall asleep knowing Gabriel was _right there._

* * *

Sam and his classmates were led to the aviary. There were oh's and ah's all around as children stepped inside the large, glorified bird cage. In the sunlight, it was hard to tell that light grey fencing encircled and rose over the lush vegetation around them.

He felt a little guilty about the birds' predicament. They were only caged because people wanted to see them up close, where they couldn't fly away before they got the chance. But the zookeepers had promised him, every time that he had asked them if this was okay, that they were well taken care of. The birds were fed and watered around the clock and the cage was definitely big enough to give them enough room to fly around freely.

And the guests could feed the birds, too! It only cost a few dollars to get a small bag of bird seed. Sam watched as a few of his friends - though he could not recall their names - bought said bags. Only with minimal coaxing did the birds come to investigate the tiny humans in their domain. All sorts of birds. Colorful ones and plainer ones. They chirped and chittered and made his friends laugh when they landed on them.

He wanted the birds to land on him. He wanted to pet their pretty feathers and hear their singing in his ears.

He walked over to one of the zookeepers, gently tugging at their sleeve to get their attention. When they looked down at him, he politely asked for one of the bags of food. He had to give the zookeeper his lunch money, but he felt it was worth it.

With a grin, Sam left the main group of kids, going deeper into the aviary. The entranceway was too crowded, too noisy with the sounds of youthful voices. Sam feared such a commotion might make other birds stay away from him. And, if he was truthful, he just wanted a bird for himself. One that wouldn't fly away from him as soon as it spotted a more interesting looking kid with some better food.

Sam followed the singing. Every time he spotted a bird, he grinned at it, took out a little bit of bird seed in his hand, and held it out for it to take. And every time, the bird would stare at him warily, or distrustfully. Some even flew away all together, as if they were disgusted with him. His offering wasn't good enough.

Sam's grin grew less and less bright the more he was cast aside and ignored.

By the time he came to a large tree, covered in birds of all colors, Sam found that he couldn't smile. He was so scared. Scared that those tiny, beautiful things would never stop judging him. His hands shook, seeds bouncing down to the ground at his feet. Tears started to well up in his eyes as he bowed his head.

Why was he not good enough?

A sharp crack coming from the tree startled Sam into looking up. The seeds fell to the ground, forgotten. The birds quieted. It was almost like the very air around them grew thick and heavy. Sam felt dread work its way down into his arms and legs. Something was wrong.

Without warning, the tree caught on fire. Not with a small flame but a roaring inferno. Sam gaped up at the burning tree as it was consumed. The birds screeched in fear and pain, trying in vain to fly away.

But they couldn't. The fire caught them, it burned them, and those that at least made it off the many branches didn't make it far. They fell to the ground like tiny meteors. Charred feathers rained down.

Sam ran towards the tree. He beat at it with his fists, so much smaller than the trunk of this gnarled, old thing. He didn't think about how the fire licked at his hands or how it burned his sleeves away. He didn't feel it. It didn't matter!

"Stop it!" He screamed, the warmth on his face coming from his tears only. "Stop it, you're killing them!"

So what if they didn't like him? He'd be a monster if he sat back and did nothing to save the birds.

Or his friends.

Sam gasped, stumbling away from the tree. He looked around frantically, almost too fast to actually see anything.

The fire was spreading. It'd lit the underbrush easily and crawled across the pathways on either side of the tree. More birds were screeching, taking to the skies as the fire moved with unnatural speed towards the gates.

Sam turned and he ran. He ran for those gates. He ran to warn his classmates. He had to get everyone out, before it was too late.

When Sam made it to the entranceway, he realized he was alone. The children were gone. The zookeepers were gone. The only sounds he could hear were the roaring flames at his back and the cries of hundreds of birds that sounded almost like screams.

The gates were locked when Sam reached them. He crashed into them at full-speed, grunting as he bounced back, the metal digging into his palms. Gasping for air, trying to catch his breath, Sam shook the gates as hard as he could. But they wouldn't budge.

He shook them. He pounded them. He kicked them. He roared at them, as well as his young voice could. He tried to ram them. Nothing he could do would make them open. He was trapped. Trapped in a glorified birdcage with the yellow-red light of fire reflecting off the gates that taunted him.

"Let me out," he hissed at them. "Let me out!"

This time, he pushed. One solid, steady push that used both of his hands and all the force he could muster. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. He demanded them to open. He demanded whatever invisible chain that held them shut to break. The fire was deafening, the birds had gone eerily quiet, and he'd be _damned_ if he would let the inferno win.

The sound of breaking metal - a soft _clink -_ reached Sam's ears, and then he was falling forward.

Sam gasped, flailing with the sheets that were on top of him. He sat up quickly, head darting side-to-side to see where he was.

Soon, his frantic mind registered his surroundings. He was in his motel room. He wasn't some kid stuck in a flaming zoo. Everything was fine. Remembering the flash of honey-brown he'd seen, Sam turned to look at Gabriel.

The Archangel was sitting in the chair directly facing the bed. He raised an eyebrow at Sam in question, though a small smile played at his lips.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked, trying to get his breathing under control.

"A dream."

"I know that, but about what!"

Gabriel shrugged, resting his head against his forefinger, "How the hell should I know? It's your head. I'm not supposed to go in there without permission, remember?"

"You-!"

Sam wanted to strangle him. Of all the damn times he could pull the whole 'respecting your boundaries' thing, he had to do it _now._ Sam growled and threw the covers off himself. He dragged himself to the edge of the bed and sat, placing his head into his hands.

He was calming down, his breathing evening out, but his pulse was still fast. He hadn't considered his dream a nightmare while it was happening, he'd been too numbed, but his body obviously had a different idea. He sighed loudly into his hands.

"That bad, huh?" Gabriel inquired.

"I've had worse," Sam grumbled.

A few seconds passed in silence, Sam not moving as he focused on clearing his head, before Gabe spoke up again.

"Well, now that you're here, you up for a little lesson?"

Sam slowly brought his head up to glare across the room at the Archangel. Gabriel flinched when he realized what he'd said.

"Okay, poor choice of words. I meant: Are you ready for a little mental exercise? You wanted help learning how to use your powers," Gabriel held his arms out, palms up, "here I am."

"Wouldn't it be better to do that in a dream?" Sam questioned.

"Eh," Gabriel dismissed as he stood up and walked around the coffee table to reach Sam.

Sam leaned back a little as Gabriel came to stand in front of him.

Gabriel pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side in thought. Sam frowned at the expression.

"What?"

"You're already pretty advanced when it comes to manipulating your thoughts," Gabriel explained. "It's why you lucid dream so much. And you made it here on your own." He took a deep breath and sighed. "These powers run on your will, Sam. You want something to happen and it happens. Well, not without some elbow grease. Especially at your current level. But, hey, you're only human. You ain't got the same batteries that I do."

Sam blinked slowly up at him. "Is that supposed to make sense?"

Gabriel snorted. "It's simple: You wanted to see my wings restored that first night, you got to see it. You _made it happen_ just to see it. Second time? You saw some fire, tried to see some water to put it out...and missed, but you still wound up with some water."

Sam nodded, slowly understanding, "I envision it - _see it_ \- and my mind manipulates, what, reality? Just to fit what I wanna see?"

"What you wanna see, what you wanna happen. It's close to the same thing." Gabriel smiled. "What do you _want,_ Sam?"

What did he want? Sam thought as he stared, unblinkingly, up at the Archangel. He almost scoffed at the question.

The answer was simple: He wanted Gabriel.

He wanted the closeness he'd had with Gabriel's Grace. The closeness Sam knew Gabriel had wanted.

That night he'd entered Gabriel's mind after they'd rescued him, he'd seen sorrow in Gabriel's eyes when he thought Sam hated him. He'd felt the longing Gabriel had for being shown even the smallest ounce of affection. He remembered what Gabriel's cheek had felt like when he'd leant it against Sam's palm.

So what if it'd been a dream? Gabriel had thought it was real, that Sam wasn't, and he'd let his guard down. For that small window of time, Sam was allowed to see past Gabriel's infernal masks and he'd seen someone that looked just as lost and desperate as he was.

And then the masks had been put right back on.

Gabriel was frowning at him now, a distant look in his eye, but Sam paid him no heed. He dug his fingers into the mattress, all but glaring at the Archangel.

He wanted to rip apart those masks, tear them off and stomp them into the mud where they belonged. Because Gabriel didn't need them anymore. Not around Sam. Sam saw his vulnerability and he didn't care. He would never use that against Gabriel, having been a victim of such things himself.

He _wanted_ that vulnerability, but he also wanted the cynicism. He wanted the wrath, and the jokes, and the sentimentality, and the cunning mind. He wanted four wings and a pointed halo. He wanted honey-brown hair and amber eyes. He wanted a scar that stood as a reminder of sacrifice.

He wanted _Gabriel, _who was staring at him with an almost determined glint in his eye.

And he wanted Gabriel _to act._

Without warning, Gabriel did. He dove towards Sam, causing him to lean back quickly, and grabbed ahold of Sam's face with his hands.

He kissed him, and it wasn't gentle. It was teeth and tongue and scorching desire, biting lips and noisy, hot breaths that mingled together and were swallowed up.

Sam buried his hands in Gabriel's hair, in his jacket, anything he could grasp to keep the Archangel from pulling away. He wrapped his legs around Gabriel's as best he could, thrilled that the other was between them. He wanted Gabriel to _stay_ between them, in all the ways that he could. Preferably without clothes and with the scent of sex in the air.

Gabriel was clawing at him just as desperately, awkwardly fumbling to keep himself from crushing Sam while also trying to decide what part of Sam he wanted to touch more. His face, his chest, his stomach, his hips, his back, he couldn't seem to make up his mind, but everywhere his hands went they brought heat. Heat that sent shocks of arousal zinging through Sam veins.

Sam moaned, nipping at Gabriel's bottom lip, nuzzling his face. He dug his fingers into the Archangel's back, remembering the reaction he'd received from his Grace - the reaction that came from pressing into invisible wings. He was rewarded with a mewling cry as Gabriel tensed, arching back and shuddering at whatever pleasure that gave him.

Gabriel looked down at him, light shining in the center of his eyes as he panted.

Sam wanted to see his wings, wanted to feel him. He wanted to rake his fingers across them until Gabriel was screaming his name.

Gabriel froze as a faint, shimmery outline of his wings became visible in the air around them. They were like before, Sam noted. When the Angel Siren had been tearing apart his Grace. Undulating, barely there spectres of light. If Sam concentrated hard enough...

Gabriel gasped, and it wasn't a pleasant sound.

Sam felt as if he'd been slammed into the ground when he saw the look of horror that came across Gabriel's face. Whatever happy spell'd been over them shattered with that look. Gabriel stared down at them, mouth agape and brows knitted with confused terror.

And then his face grew blank - resigned but with an air of regret.

Then he was gone, leaving Sam cold and awkwardly holding onto to the air in the room.

Sam's feet fell to the floor with a loud thump. He stared at the space Gabriel had just been in a second before. There had been no sound of flapping wings, or...

Sam grew angry real fast, glowering at nothing.

He was still in a dream. He was still _asleep_. Gabriel couldn't fly, he wasn't strong enough to pull himself into another dimension. Sam had been able to make out his wings because this wasn't real and - and now Gabriel was running from him. Sam knew the difference between an imaginary Gabriel and the real one. An imaginary one would've kept going. _Gabriel_ was a little a chicken shit who didn't want to admit he'd jumped Sam of his own free will.

"Oh, no, you don't," Sam growled. "You're not getting away that easily."

He'd had it with Gabriel yo-yoing all over the place. He was either going to pull his head out of his ass, or Sam was going to pull it out for him.

Sam shut his eyes, seething, and tried to follow Gabriel, wherever he'd gone. He tried to forget he was in some mockery of their motel room, he tried to remember that pale-yellow thread he'd touched once before that had led him into Gabriel's mind. He tried to follow Gabriel's advice and _want_ it.

Chilling waters covered his entire body, without warning, crushing him with their weight. Sam gasped, accidentally swallowing a mouthful of the icy liquid. For a second, he feared he would drown, until he remembered this was still a dream. Pretend the water was air and he'd be fine.

The next breath he took was free of water, though he could still hear it pressing against his ears.

Sam opened his eyes to blackness. No light was in this sea, ocean, wherever he was. He felt weightless, suspended. Disoriented. Was he right-side up? Upside-down? Most importantly: Where was Gabriel?

A twinkle off in the distance caught his attention. He frowned at it, lazily stroking at the water to stay in place, though he couldn't really know if he was. The light - at first a small pinprick - grew brighter as it drew closer. Sam watched it warily and waited.

A deep, resonating sound, much like that of a whale's call, reached his ears. However, this was no whale. As the light grew closer, Sam realized it was an angel in its true form. Multiple sets of wings beat through the water like fins, slow and graceful but efficient. From this far, Sam was unable to be certain that it was Gabriel he was seeing.

The song continued. It wasn't static, like Sam had expected. It had low notes that often rose into high ones. Highs that dipped into lows. There were squeaks and trills. The ocean around him vibrated with the sound, and said vibrations only got more intense as the angel approached.

Four wings, Sam was soon able to note, and that pretty much solidified it _was_ Gabriel. He would have frowned in aggravation at him if he hadn't been so awed.

Gabriel was massive. He was still a large distance away from Sam, but he looked bigger than Sam remembered from before. Much bigger. Skyscraper big, Sam realized with apprehension. This was Gabriel's _true _size, not some altered version created by Gabriel's mind combining with his.

Remembering what he'd wanted to do with Gabriel mere minutes ago, he suddenly felt very foolish. Humbled, even. Leave it to him to want to sleep with something that could swat him like a fly with one hand.

Gabriel's song stopped as he got within a football-field's distance from him. The water swirled around Sam as Gabriel's wings moved through it to propel him around Sam. He circled him, body like a long streamer of light, save for his face. And his face was roughly the size of Sam's entire body. He stopped to hover in front of Sam.

Sam sheepishly ducked his head from the blank look that was directed at him. Gabriel's face was _so bright_, though it didn't hurt him to see it, and, yet, it seemed lifeless. Or like a mask. Not in the metaphorical sense but in the literal. When Sam cut his eyes to look back up at him, he noticed Gabriel's had no irises or pupils. And he had no hair, Sam realized. Such an odd little detail, but extraordinary. Because, instead of hair, there were tendrils of light, flowing fluidly as if caught in a slow-moving current.

"You look different," Sam mumbled, oddly surprised that his voice carried as well as it did underwater.

Gabriel tilted his head, any expression still refusing to show on his face.

Sam frowned, "_Why _do you look different?"

Gabriel blinked and it was like he was suddenly a different person. The stiffness vanished, and there was that mischievous spark Sam was so used to seeing. Sam was shocked to see his made-of-light shoulders shrug.

"I was still kinda growing at this point in time."

He _sounded_ like himself. Sam had been expecting fog horns and screeching static.

Sam frowned in confusion. Gabriel looked around them.

"I used to like swimming in the primordial waters."

Primordial waters? The stuff that spawned, or incubated, what would become life on Earth? Sam opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but Gabriel turned back to him and spoke first.

"I'm not asleep, Sam. You didn't hop into my dreams, you landed in my memories. Impressive, but you shouldn't be here."

Oh. Whoops. And now Sam felt bad. Because Gabriel had promised not to enter his mind without permission, and, apparently, Sam had steamrolled into his uninvited. He should have thought of that before he let his anger get the best of him. But, dammit, he wanted an explanation!

Gabriel's hand - which somehow spawned out of the formless, line of light that was his body - rose and a finger reached for Sam's forehead.

"Gabriel," Sam warned, eyes widening as he realized what the Archangel planned to do, "no - !"

As soon as the finger touched him, feeling like a zap of electricity, Sam jerked awake in the motel room. And this time he was _sure_ he was awake.

He stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then, he turned his head to look over at the chair he'd seen Gabriel in in their...shared dream, or whatever that place had been. But Gabriel wasn't there. Sam pushed himself up on the bed. When his hand felt the slight warmth still clinging to the sheets beside him, he frowned. Still warm... Gabriel hadn't left until recently.

Sam glared at the closed door leading outside.

If Gabriel thought he was just going to let their impromptu, dream make-out session be swept under the rug because of something as monumental as an Archangel swimming through primordial waters then he was _sorely mistaken_. Sam flipped the sheets off of him, smothering the feeling of déjà vu it gave him, and went for his shoes.

Gabriel was grounded. He couldn't go far. And Sam was about to fulfill Gabriel's prophecy about running him down with his oh-so-long legs.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked the bone I threw ya. ;) Well... _almost_ bone. Now it's Gabe's turn to head for the hills. Don't forget to Review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Take the damn thing. Just take it. You do not know the hell I put myself through to research this chapter. I'm so aggravated.**

**Self-inflicted rage aside, I'd like to add a disclaimer: All of the locations I have mentioned within this chapter are real and as accurate as I could make them, though the inside of the PD is completely made up. The people within North Wales, PA mentioned in this fic are _not_ real. And, of course, I've taken some TV-inspired shortcuts when it comes to police procedures. For my own peace of mind and for your own.**

* * *

Sam didn't even bother with socks when he put his shoes on. He had half a mind to forego tying them. However, when he thought about the possibility of running with loose strings and the tripping hazard that held, he decided it was better safe than sorry.

When he angrily stepped outside, his eyes almost instantly landed on Gabriel.

The Archangel was walking away from the motel room with his hands in his pockets. Whether he meant to go to the lobby or the Impala, Sam couldn't tell. When he felt Sam glaring at his back, he looked over his shoulder with a frown. A frown that quickly became wide-eyed apprehension as he stilled.

He must not have expected Sam to chase after him, or, at least, not so soon.

"Gabriel," Sam said sternly, squaring his shoulders.

Gabriel's eyes darted to the Impala, which sat a few yards away from them, and then back to Sam. And then he was sprinting towards the car as fast as he could.

Sam took off just as quick. He had years of experience in running, not just as a hobby but also as part of his job. An Archangel that was used to flying everywhere was _not_ going to get away from him.

The wind whipped at his face and hair as he ran, footsteps beating against the asphalt. He probably looked odd, dashing across the parking lot just after sunrise, but Sam did not care. He was on a mission. If Gabriel thought the Impala was base, Sam just had to tag him before he got there.

Gabriel cheated, opening the back door with a thought just before he reached it. Unfortunately for him, Sam was quite literally on his ass. Gabriel dove into the backseat, only to yelp in a very undignified manner as he felt Sam's hands grab onto the back of his pants. He slid back a bit when Sam tried to yank him out, but he was persistent - and as strong as an ox - and wound up pulling Sam halfway in with him as he crawled forward.

Sam grunted as he grappled with Gabriel, trying not to fall on him. Leaning forward, he grabbed ahold of the other's shoulders to keep him from going any further.

Gabriel didn't like that too much. He half-turned and smacked at the back of Sam's head.

Sam cringed, but he didn't give up.

"Hard head like a helmet, remember?" He growled, now fighting with Gabriel's flailing arms. "Will you knock it off!"

Gabriel'd flipped over completely by now and was lying on his back. He brought his legs up to use them as a shield, Sam's chest pressing against them as Gabriel tried to shove Sam away by his shoulders.

"If _you_ don't knock it off I may have to hurt you, and we both don't want that," Gabriel snapped in reply, scowling up at him. "You think a kangaroo has leg strength? You ain't seen nothin' yet."

They dissolved into a cacophony of grunts, growls, and almost tame slaps, struggling with one another and not really getting any headway. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam remembered some old Bible tale about a dude wrestling with an angel. He would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation if he hadn't been so focused on staving off Gabriel's next attack, or his escape.

They only stopped when they heard Dean's voice yelling across the parking lot.

"What the _hell_ are you doin' to my car!"

Sam grabbed ahold of Gabriel's wrists, brought together over the Archangel's knees, and turned to glare out of the car at his brother, who was already dressed for the day.

Dean had his mouth open to yell something else at them, but when he saw the look on Sam's face, his current state of dress, and his hair, he made a disturbed face. He held up his hand to stop any explanation Sam could give him - even though he hadn't planned on giving one - and then pointed towards him.

"Do _not_ kill him in my car. Blood stains are a bitch to get out."

Dean retreated back into his room, though Sam was sure he wouldn't be staying in it long. Not now that he knew everyone was awake and he feared for the Impala's state of being.

Sam jerked his head around to glare down at Gabriel. Gabriel was glaring back just as heatedly, though markedly more annoyed than anything, allowing his arms to still be bound by Sam's simple, mortal grip. Sam raised a finger at him.

"_You_ are explaining yourself," he hissed.

"Oh, I am, am I?" Gabriel bit back.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Yeah, _you are_. Why the hell are you running away from me? Why are you trying to _ignore_ me and this-this...whatever it is! _You_ jumped _me _back there, so don't even try to make me think this is all in my head."

"Technically - "

"_Don't even,_" Sam warned. "You asked me what I wanted and then - "

Sam trailed off, a cold feeling shooting through him. All traces of aggravation fled from his face as he gasped in horror at the idea.

"Did I make you do that?" He questioned, voice shaky and barely above a whisper. "Is that why - ?"

"No!" Gabriel interrupted fiercely. And then he cringed and looked away as he realized he'd just confirmed what he'd done had been his own doing. "Dammit, Sam."

"Then why!"

He was asking Gabriel that a lot lately, he realized. Why this, why that. Why couldn't the Archangel just say what was going on in his head? He claimed to trust Sam. He claimed to be worried about him, to care about him, to the point that not knowing where Sam had gone, what he was doing, had made him _panic_. Especially when he'd thought that Sam was endangering himself _for him_. He'd shown he was attracted to him. What was the issue?

Gabriel finally, slowly, looked up at him, and there were those soulful eyes again. The ones filled with pain, regret, and longing.

"I _can't_," he replied softly.

His body went slack under Sam's, legs sliding down to rest on either side of Sam's bent ones. He let his head drop onto the seat and stared up at the roof in resignation. The look on his face reminded Sam of just how old he really was.

Sam remembered those words. Now, he thought he finally understood what they meant.

Before, Gabriel had used them to express his disbelief that Sam had come to save him. He couldn't believe. He couldn't _hope_. As the Grace had once said: He didn't have it in him. He truly didn't have good self-esteem.

"Why not?" Sam prompted carefully, loosely holding onto Gabriel's wrists still.

Gabriel's lips turned upwards with a bitter smile, eyes refusing to meet Sam's.

"I told you once before: I'm sentimental." The smile dropped. "And I've been burned before."

Oh. Sentimental. _Burned. _Kali.

Sam hadn't thought much of Gabriel's relationship with Kali all those years ago. They were gods, and what did Sam care for how deeply they may or may not have loved one another? Dean and he'd kind of been more worried about getting eaten, or killed by Lucifer - or possessed, as Sam's case had been.

But now, he recalled the look she had given Gabriel and the way she had caressed his face, even as her words had spelled out his doom. He recalled the look Gabriel had given her in return, and it had been anything but spiteful.

And then she'd killed him. Not really, Gabriel had used a trick, but she'd thought he was real.

Gabriel had loved Kali, and she'd killed him. Gabriel had loved Lucifer, and he'd killed him.

Yes, Sam understood now. Gabriel wanted him, in some way, shape, or fashion, but Gabriel was afraid of being hurt again. He was too afraid to stick his hand back out and reach for someone else, only making it halfway before jerking it back. Because it seemed like, every time that he did, he wound up dead and heart-broken.

Sam sighed and let Gabriel's hands fall. He lowered himself, and Gabriel allowed it, to wrap his arms under and around the Archangel in a firm hug. Gabriel was still and warm beneath him.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Sam said softly into his ear.

He felt Gabriel huff. "You can't promise me that."

Sam's hold tightened as he stressed, "I don't hurt the people I care about."

Gabriel inhaled sharply, body tensing. For a few seconds, he didn't breathe. When he did, it came out as a shaky sigh as he leaned his head against Sam's. His hand came up to grasp Sam's shirt just under his ribs.

Sam didn't know how much progress they'd finally made, but he knew they'd made _some_. He smiled and moved just enough to press a light kiss against Gabriel's neck, earning a small shiver from the Archangel.

"Okay, no, get out." Sam heard Dean say from right behind them. His brother smacked him on his shoe. "There'll be no _screwin'_ in my car, either. It's already been christened, thanks."

Sam made a disgusted noise, mind assaulted with many images that he did not need. Gabriel only snorted at the joke. Of course, he would. He and Dean really did have a disturbingly similar sense of humor. Sadly.

Sam pushed himself off Gabriel and awkwardly scuttled back out of the car. He flinched when he accidentally bumped his head on the roof on his way out. Stepping back to give Gabriel room to clamber out, he rubbed at the back of his head while he frowned at Dean.

Dean had his bag over his shoulder, all ready to go, as Sam'd figured he would be. His lips were pulled down into a frown, too. Only his was one part disapproval and three parts curiosity. After all, as far as he knew, Sam was going to murder Gabriel one minute and then he was getting a little _too_ friendly with him the next. Dean's eyes tried searching his for answers, probably to see if he needed to intervene in whatever it was that was going on between him and Gabriel.

Sam shrugged, sheepish and dismissive. It wasn't like Dean would be interested in hearing Gabriel's sob story, he'd already made that clear, so what exactly was Sam supposed to say?

At the shrug, Dean backed off, but not without a sour look aimed towards Gabriel as the Archangel slid out of the car. Dean watched him suspiciously as Gabriel stepped away, coming to stand just off to the side of both Winchesters with a small smirk on his face aimed at Dean and his hands in his pockets.

Once sure that Gabriel wasn't going to do anything else that he didn't like, Dean relaxed and readjusted the bag on his shoulder.

"Alright, we're outta here. Another attack's been reported, happened some time after midnight. Which makes me think we really _are _dealin' with a hellhound." He nodded his head towards the motel, "Sam, go change, shower, shave, whatever you gotta do. We don't know how long this dog's gonna be on the prowl and I'd like to stop it before it meets its job quota."

Sam nodded, began to walk away, and then frowned. He stopped in mid-step and turned towards Dean.

"How do you know there was another attack? I have the laptop."

"Dude. There's this thing my phone has. It's called Wi-Fi."

Sam closed his eyes, barely resisting the urge to smack his own forehead.

"Right," he replied. "I... It's still early. I'm just gonna go get ready."

"Yeah, you do that," Dean nodded, a stone's throw away from cracking a joke at Sam's expense. Instead, he turned to Gabriel and commanded, "And _you_ get back in the car and wait while I go check us out."

Gabriel groaned dramatically, whole body slumping until he was almost doubled over. "Do I have to?"

"We could always tie you to the roof."

"That's actually an improvement. I gratefully accept."

"The trunk, then."

Gabriel threw his head back and groaned again. "Fine!"

Sam smiled at the exchange. It was actually pretty funny how Gabriel and his brother teased one another...when they weren't one step away from ripping each other's throats out. Sadly, the line between those two scenarios was very, very thin.

* * *

They arrived in Montgomeryville, Pennsylvania shortly after five in the afternoon.

The Inn they were staying at was only three miles away from the little borough known as North Wales. Dean would have preferred to be _in _the borough, but Sam assured him, more than once, that they really had no other options. Besides, the hospital where the latest victims were being kept would be closer to them this way. The Inn was good middle ground, as far as Sam was concerned. Dean, however, was set in his complaints. He'd have to drive south to get to the North Wales Police Department, then north, past the Inn, to get to the hospital, and he didn't like driving like a damn yo-yo.

Sam had rolled his eyes at his brother and went about setting up their next FBI impersonation. He had called beforehand to alert the police that they'd be coming, claiming that they'd just caught wind of the strange goings-on within the borough and that it matched another case they had come across before. They wanted to investigate. Naturally, the person he was speaking to had wondered what random dog attacks had to do with FBI investigations - didn't they handle more heinous crimes by _human_ criminals? - but Sam simply slipped into his reassuring voice and said they'd discuss more about the case when they arrived.

Unfortunately for the Hunters, the police department closed at four-thirty in the afternoon. Yes, even for FBI agents who waited until 'the last minute' to announce they were arriving.

Sam and Dean were screwed, as far as the night was concerned. Hopefully, _hopefully_, there wouldn't be another attack, or an innocent person might be screwed, as well. And without speaking to the PD first, they couldn't really barge into the hospital without risking some very negative backlash. From his experience, local cops didn't like feds stepping out of line on their turf, and Sam and Dean couldn't risk them getting pissed and then snooping into their validity as agents. The Winchesters had been to jail numerous times before. It wasn't a pleasant thing to go through.

Feeling annoyed and helpless, Sam and Dean, Gabriel in tow, booked _one_ room for three nights. Dean argued that 'fun times were over.' They had hunting to do now and they needed to focus; Sam and Gabriel were just gonna have to deal. Dean was surprised when he got no complaints about this plan.

Gabriel had relaxed in Sam's presence since the confrontation back in Ohio. He was smiling more often, with genuine smiles, whenever Sam would try and joke with him.

And there had been many opportunities to joke in the long hours it took to get to PA. At some point, not long into the trip, Sam had complained that he'd forgotten to charge his laptop, dooming him and Gabriel to a world of boredom. And Gabriel had revealed that angels could charge electrical devices with no trouble at all. Their ride had been spent messing around on the Internet, and following Dean's footsteps regarding hilarious YouTube videos.

(Dean's ride had been spent driving, glaring into the backseat, and trying to drown out the almost immature giggles coming from his passengers with some classic rock.)

Sam took Gabriel's ease with him as an improvement towards their relationship, but he wasn't looking to jump the gun when it came to anything serious. Gabriel needed time and space to work out his own thoughts, and if Sam was constantly being thrown at him, either by Dean's doing or Sam's own, then he'd just run like he always did. And Sam wouldn't fault him for that. He understood it completely.

Sam could wait.

Them rooming with Dean was a mercy, really.

The motel room wasn't as impressive as the last one had been. Well, not as colorful, anyway.

The two double beds were made up with white sheets and a dull beige, _thin_ comforter. On the plus side, each bed had three white pillows, as if to apologize for the lackluster bedding. Three pieces of furniture stood across from them: a wardrobe, an entertainment center with TV and dresser drawers, and a very short, long desk that sat under a mirror. All of the furniture was made with a reddish-brown wood, including the headboards, the chairs with their blue, plaid cushions, and the round table that sat beside the large window. The curtains were blue, matching the carpet. Two identical paintings of a flower bowl hung over the headboards of the beds. The small bathroom was, once again, in the back.

"Ugh, even the chairs are plaid," Gabriel quipped as he eyed said chairs, his back pressed against the door with his arms crossed.

Sam and Dean were already in the process of settling down for the night.

Sam was pulling his and Dean's suits out of the bag they'd been folded up into. The room also came with an iron and ironing board, or so the website had claimed. Knowing Dean, Sam'd be the one stuck making their suits look presentable and not like a they'd slept in them before showing up at the police department. The wardrobe was a godsend in that regard.

Dean was rifling through his bag and pulling out his sleep clothes. The sun still hadn't set, but Dean was a creature of comfort. He'd lounge in his PJs all day if he could. Lord knows how many times he walked around the Bunker with that damned Men of Letters robe on.

However, at Gabriel's comment, he dropped his arms to his side in annoyance.

"Why does _everyone_ bring that up?" Dean griped, staring at Sam with a scowl.

Sam shrugged, trying not to smirk. "We do kinda wear a lot of flannel..."

"More like it's the only damn thing in your arsenal, sans the guns, of course," Gabriel muttered. "Guns and plaid. A Hunter's best friends! How...uncouth."

Dean held up a finger and pushed it towards Gabriel, "Y'know what? Shut up. You ain't got room to talk. I distinctly remember you wearing plaid, too!"

"Not to mention that one white shirt with ugly red designs on it I remember you wearing," Sam added, finally letting the smirk win.

Gabriel sneered at them, but his lack of a biting comment meant he admitted defeat when it came to arguing who had the better style out of the three of them. After all, he did look like he was stuck between formal and non with his current outfit. He'd stuck with the white button-up shirt and navy slacks Dean had given him that day his clothes had been drenched. But, he'd also plundered his old, multi-pocketed, zippered jacket from the laundry. They kinda clashed.

Gabriel's eyes roamed over the room, searchingly, before they found their way to the suits Sam was laying down onto his bed. The corner of his lips twitched downward briefly.

"So!" He began conversationally. "When we setting out in the morning?"

"Oh, uh-uh," Dean snapped quickly, shaking his head as he gathered his clothes and toiletries. He turned to look at the Archangel. "You ain't comin' with. I'm not risking you screwin' something up."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, noting the dark look forming on Gabriel's face. He knew why Gabriel was upset, he was constantly being put under some form of house arrest by Dean, and it didn't help that Dean kept inferring that Gabriel was a walking beacon of chaos. Sam would be pissed, too. However, there was the little problem of being _undercover_.

"Gabriel," Sam said quickly, trying to stave off a fight, "we don't have a suit for you, or an ID. We can't really show up with a civilian in tow and no explanation."

Gabriel's cool eyes slid from Dean's to his. Without a word, his clothes morphed into a spitting image of the dark suits Sam and Dean had brought with them. He even thought to include a red tie. Uncrossing his arms, he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out an FBI wallet, making a show of opening it to reveal a badge and photo ID. His blank face clearly showed what he thought of Sam's argument.

"Oh," Sam mumbled, blushing a little.

He'd forgotten that Gabriel could change his appearance at will. It seemed to be a trait specific to him, as he had yet to run into any other angels that could. Or perhaps they simply didn't feel the need to? Who knew.

Dean didn't look impressed. "Don't care. You're still not going."

"Dean," Sam objected.

"What?" Dean snapped. He motioned to Gabriel with a wave of his hand, "I highly doubt the _Trickster_ knows how to interview cops!"

Gabriel rolled his eyes, pocketing his badge. "Please. I'm not my socially awkward little bro, alright? I've been dealing with lies for millenia. I think I know how to get the local authorities to unass some information about some kibble."

"Gabe!" Sam squawked, surprised at how he referred to the victims, though he really shouldn't have been.

Gabriel at least had the decency to look scolded at Sam's tone, glancing at Sam for a second before focusing again on Dean. He fidgeted, as if self-conscious about Sam's disapproving frown still directed at him.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. But do you know how to use a gun?" Dean questioned, aggravated.

Gabriel leaned back and looked down his nose at Dean.

"Okay. Let's ignore the fact that I wouldn't need a gun to take out a hellhound - my blade works just fine: I've been on this planet for an _exceptionally_ long time, Dean. Hidden amongst all you little humans. I've seen the genesis of every damn weapon your species has come up with, from a rock to the nuclear bomb. And I know, intricately, how all of them work. Angel perk. So, yes, _Dean_, I know how to take a gun, load it, point it at something, and shoot it. And I bet I can do it with better accuracy than you can."

Sam pursed his lips to keep from smiling. His brother was turning that interesting shade of red again, jaw muscles twitching in barely-controlled anger. Gabriel had just won, hook, line, and sinker. And Sam suspected that his brother knew that, no matter what he came up with to dissuade the Archangel, Gabriel would just come back with something else to blow holes all into Dean's logic. Dean _hated_ that.

Dean risked stepping into Gabriel's face, glaring down at him as he growled, "Fuck this up and I will _roast_ your ass."

Gabriel was unfazed. He smirked, "Really? I thought you were going to deep fry me? Those're two totally different things, _big boy_."

A tense silence descended upon the room, Sam watching Gabriel and Dean while wondering if either one was going to throttle the other. However, after a few seconds of heated glaring from Dean's end and smug smiling from Gabriel's, Dean turned away and stormed towards the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him so hard and loud that Sam was sure any neighbors they had had definitely heard him.

Sam gave the Archangel an amused look. "He'll pull his head out of his ass eventually."

"I heard that!" Dean shouted from behind the door.

The bathroom door opened and Dean glared at him.

"Y'know what? Why don't you go fetch us some dinner. Take the Cheshire cat over there with ya. If y'all come back with a double bacon cheeseburger, I might not murder you."

Dean's head disappeared into the bathroom as he slammed the door shut again, this time with slightly less force. Sam held in his groan as he dropped the suit in his hand back onto the bed. He rolled his eyes and looked to Gabriel, pleading for sympathy. Gabriel replied with an unamused glance. Then, he opened the door behind him and left, leaving it open for Sam to follow.

Sam had to retrieve Dean's keys from his jacket from where it lay across one of the chairs. He made certain to fish the warding sigil out of his bag while he was at it. God forbid he forget that and wind up getting jumped at the nearest fast food joint that sold double bacon cheeseburgers. Not really a heroic way to go.

Gabriel was waiting for him, leaning against the passenger side door of the Impala.

"Ya sure one room was such a good idea?" He asked as Sam approached. "I have a feeling stickin' me and your volatile brother in confined quarters is an explosive accident waiting to happen."

"Yeah, well," Sam began as he opened the driver's side door.

Gabriel followed suit, climbing into the car a second after Sam.

"Just remember I'm in the room and try not to explode? Dean's not used to having...competent angelic company when we go on hunts. Hell, the last time we took Cas with us... Well, let's just say you weren't wrong about the whole 'awkward' thing. He tried sniffing a dead guy to see what was wrong with him."

Gabriel slowly turned to give him a genuinely weirded-out look. He then shut his eyes and shook his head.

"And this is the angel that's gunning for Metatron," he grumbled as Sam turned on the ignition and began to back out of the parking spot.

"In Cas' defense, he is a better fighter than an FBI agent."

"You don't win wars with brute strength, Sam," Gabriel sighed, oddly solemn. "He's gotta be cunning. And Metatron is far smarter than Raphael was. The Angel Tablet doesn't help."

"Wow. Downer much?" Sam remarked, stopping at the road and waiting for a break in traffic.

Gabriel smiled, bowing his head. "No, you're right. We have more important things to worry about. Like cheeseburgers!"

A thought occurred to Sam, causing him to frown. He looked over at Gabriel, confusion marring his features.

"Can't you _make_ food?"

The mischievous twinkle in Gabe's eyes combined with his smug smirk answered Sam's question for him. Yes, Gabriel could make what Dean wanted for dinner. However, if Sam had to guess, Gabriel wanted a break from Dean just as much as Dean wanted a break from him.

Sam was willing to oblige them. Anything to calm the two of them down so he could iron their clothes in peace and prepare the fictitious case details he and Dean were going to have to give the police the next morning. Dean, he, and Gabriel, he amended.

It was going to feel strange, having the Archangel along for the ride when they made their rounds. He wasn't sure how Gabriel could help them, other than smiting bad guys easily enough. But it'd be interesting to see him work, if he needed to - to see how he behaved around other humans when not acting as the Trickster.

* * *

The Impala pulled into the parking lot of the North Wales Police Department shortly after eight in the morning. Sam, Dean, and Gabriel were all dressed to match the parts they were going to play. The story they had concocted was well-rehearsed. They were ready for anything.

Except for the sight of the building that greeted them.

"You've got to be shitting me," Dean remarked as he put the car in park and switched off the ignition.

"Well," Sam answered, hesitantly, "it _is_ a small town. Borough. Whatever."

The building was small, one-story, made of brick with white plaster for aesthetics, and it sat in a space of land that might could fit a small park. It looked nice. Plenty of beautiful windows, a well-kept lawn with decorative trees spaced perfectly apart. The architects had even been thoughtful enough to include wheelchair ramps on both sides of the building. Sam would describe it as quaint or charming, if he was ever asked to describe it.

They weren't really used to police departments being quaint and charming, though. They were used to them looking more, well, _dreary_. Business-like. Those who worked within were there for justice and only that. Those sort of vibes. Not, 'Please, come in, and do enjoy your stay!' It was quite a contrast to the almost snooty individual Sam had spoken to on the phone the day before.

"I bet you they don't even have a jail in this place," Dean accused.

Sam gave him a disapproving frown but said nothing. Dean was always so quick to judge others. Or peaceful little boroughs, as the case may be. So what if it wasn't something they were used to seeing? Sam was sure the cops here got the job done protecting the citizens just the same as any other department. Supernatural dogs of death eating said citizens notwithstanding.

"Ya gonna keep making faces at it, or you gonna get out and actually go in?" Gabriel complained from the back.

Sam had been allowed back in the front for this trip, leaving Gabriel with free reign of the back. He'd opted to sit in the direct middle of the bench seat, like an eager kid who couldn't wait to take in the sights from all angles. He was probably grateful for the added space. Sam knew _he_ was.

"Bite me, asshole," Dean replied, yet he followed Gabriel's advice and climbed out of the car.

"He _really_ has a thing for biting. I'm starting to worry. He's going beyond fetish and straight into obsession."

Dean threw him a heated glare through the window while Sam snorted.

"Just don't start fighting in the middle of the police department," Sam warned with a small smile. "We're FBI agents, not elementary kids."

Gabriel stuck his tongue out at him but exited the vehicle on Sam's side. Sam followed suit. Dean gave them both a no-nonsense look before he walked off, headed for the entrance. They followed obediently, Gabe behind Sam.

Sam hid a smile as they walked.

Dean and he made an impressive sight as agents, what with their height and their bodies shaped from years of hunting. Intimidation was a factor they often employed when politeness wouldn't get them what they wanted. However, _Gabriel_ was...short. Well, okay, he was average male height, but when placed beside Sam and his brother? Yeah, he was short. And his face at rest still managed to allude to his Trickster side - the playfulness, the smirks, and the easy laughter. He was going to seem like the odd man out to anyone who saw all three of them together, and the thought amused Sam in an endearing sort of way.

When they entered the building, they quickly took in their surroundings.

Four simple chairs with blue cushions sat against both walls, two on each side. Small desks sat between each pair, a small stack of magazines on top in the event that waiting guests would need something to do. The walls were a sterile white color, the carpet blue and thin. Scenic paintings were scattered around on the walls to add a bit of life to the otherwise empty feeling room. Off to either side of the reception area appeared to be where the main part of the department was, behind grey doors with windows.

An officer in a dark navy uniform stood behind a tall, curved desk made of wood, boredly staring at the computer in front of him. However, when he caught sight of them entering, his head perked up and he greeted them with a confused, polite smile.

"What can I do for you, sirs?" He asked, eyes quickly roving over them.

Dean was the first to speak, reaching into his suit's inside pocket for his fake badge. Sam followed his example. They both flipped the wallets open at the same time.

"Yeah, my name is Agent Cooper, this is Agent Clapton and Agent Bowie."

The officer - Ellis, according to his name tag - took a quick glance at Dean's and Sam's IDs and then looked behind them at Gabriel. He frowned. Dean and Sam turned to glance back at the Archangel, who was squinting off to their right at the closed door leading into an office area. Sam coughed quietly at the same time Dean prompted:

"_And Agent Bowie._"

Gabriel snapped out of it, inhaling sharply as he turned to look at the waiting officer. He reached into his suit, pulled out his magicked FBI wallet and flipped it open for the officer, making sure to push it past Sam and Dean's arms so the man could see it well enough.

"Sorry about that," he apologized with a quick smile. "Thought I saw someone I knew."

With Ellis' nod, Gabriel withdrew his arm and placed the badge back into his suit. Dean threw him a sharp look before turning back to face Ellis. Gabriel ignored him. Sam resisted the urge to sigh.

"We're here to find out any information you can give us about the recent animal attacks in the area," Dean announced, slipping back into business mode.

"Ah, yes. Officer Miller told me about you guys. Why do you want to know about dog attacks? That seems - "

"Odd?" Sam interrupted with a pleasant smile. "Yeah, we know. It's just that we think it could be tied in with a serial killer whose calling card is letting his dog attack his victims. We've run into his MO before but we've never managed to catch him. The murder weapon being a dog it's..."

Ellis was giving them a disgusted look, "Depraved?"

"Hard to track him down," Dean amended with a nod. "The way dogs rip flesh...it's hard to match dental impression."

"Plus, Fido's probably not in the database," Gabriel smiled.

"Yeah, I suppose not," Ellis replied slowly, obviously unsettled by the story the three of them had told. "Lemme just phone the police chief and tell him why you're here."

They stepped back from the desk, wandering leisurely towards the waiting chairs while listening to Ellis talk to his boss. He kept glancing up at them, and Sam was almost positive that he saw the man shiver when he recounted the theory about a dog being used as a weapon. Sam took him to be the squeamish type. He had been, too, once upon a time. The job had quickly broken him of that.

When the police chief finally stepped into the waiting area, he grinned at them and reached out to shake their hands. They obliged, mirroring the man's jovial attitude.

He was a middle-aged, portly fellow, fair haired with a mustache and ruddy face. Laugh lines were clear at the corner of his eyes. His handshake was strong. Sam solidified his theory about the borough being relatively peaceful. That, or this guy was optimistic about every aspect of his life.

"Name's Pugh. I hear you boys are here about a possible killer in our little ol' North Wales," he began, somehow managing to both be serious and smiling at the same time. He put his hands on his hips. "Saddens me to think we'd attract such riff-raff, but there's a first time for everything. I gotta tell ya, I've never seen anything like it. The way those folks' bodies were torn up? If I didn't know any better, I'd say a _bear_ got ahold of them. But, coroner assures me it's gotta be a dog."

Dean and Sam shared a look. Yeah, that sounded like a hellhound.

"You have copies of the case files we can have?" Gabriel spoke up, stunning Sam and Dean. "The sooner we can track this guy down, the better. There's no telling if, and when, he'll strike again."

The conversational mood evaporated from the chief's demeanor. He nodded an affirmation with a frown.

"Yeah, sure thing. I'll have my people get right on that, Agent...?"

"Bowie," Gabriel replied, somehow managing to keep a straight face despite the devious glint in Dean's eye and the brief, upward twitch of his lips.

"Right. It'll take a minute to get the copies made and in order. Sorry for the inconvenience, agents, but did you show up without much warning. Just make sure you catch the guy. I don't want anymore townspeople suffering just because some sick-o gets his jollies attacking them with his mutt."

"Will do," Dean replied with a polite nod.

Chief Pugh shook his head and walked back the way he'd come, muttering about the state of the world. Sam watched him until he disappeared into the room beyond the right door. He then turned to face Dean and Gabriel.

"Y'all normally take that long to get to the point?" Gabriel questioned, eyebrow raised and unimpressed.

Dean opened his mouth to spout something most likely acidic, but Sam spoke first.

"Usually when we show up, the local authorities resist handing over cases they've worked so hard trying to solve. We try to build up rapport before demanding anything. Smooths things along."

"Waste of time, if you ask me," Gabriel mumbled, arms crossing.

"Yeah, well, we didn't ask you," Dean replied haughtily.

Gabriel didn't answer him with any equally inflammatory action or word. He was being particularly calm in the presence of Dean's ill-mannered teasing today. If Sam had to guess, he suspected Gabriel was treating his brother like an unruly toddler: Ignore their whining and they'll eventually stop, once they know you want give them the reaction they want. Clever strategy, Sam had to admit. A major improvement from the day before. Gabriel was learning, after all.

Half an hour passed before Chief Pugh reappeared in the waiting room, the gang having long sat down in the uncomfortable chairs near the door. He handed them the files, explaining that they were ordered with first victim on top and last on bottom. He exchanged numbers with them, them giving him some cards Sam had made the night before. (He'd almost remembered too late that he was using a different phone and that the previous ones they'd had were useless. Dean had complained when Sam got back with his dinner later than usual.)

With a promise that they'd keep the local police informed on the case, Sam, Dean, and Gabriel left the police department.

One quick look at the crime scene photos revealed everything they needed to know. Five victims - three male and two female - had been ripped to shreds. One, a Mr. Yates, had been brutally eviscerated. Sam had made a face at the photo when he'd come across it. Yates must've tried to put up a fight to get that wound.

"That bad, huh?" Dean asked as he tried to spot somewhere for them to eat breakfast.

"Oh, yeah," Sam replied, furling his nose as he flipped through the reports in the folder. "We don't even need to go to the morgue, these pictures speak for themselves. Definitely a hellhound."

"Good!" Dean exclaimed happily. "Didn't wanna drive there no how. Find anything connecting the victims in there? My best guess is Crossroads deals, but I don't understand how the demon roped in so many people in such short a time. Last time we came across something like that... Ugh, Crowley. He better not be behind this one, too. I don't wanna hear the rant he'll give us about killing another one of his dogs. And there's no way he'd call off the deals willingly."

"Yeah, I thought about that, too," he muttered.

It was when he reached the age of Yates that he paused. He frowned, switching to the folder just before that one, the folder of a Ms. Morris. He looked at her age, and the frown only increased. He checked the first folder he'd opened - Mr. Howell - and was disturbed to see his age, too.

He opened his mouth, shut it, turned in his seat to face Gabriel and asked, "What's the ages of yours?"

"You figured it out, too?" Gabriel mused, leaning back against the seat with the folders Sam had given him closed in his lap. His clothes had turned back into his former attire.

"Why didn't you mention it?" Sam grumbled.

"You only let me look at two of the folders, Sam," Gabriel replied easily. "You just confirmed _my_ suspicions."

Oh. Right. That made sense, because Gabriel wouldn't have known...

"Okay, confirmed _what?_" Dean demanded, turning onto Main St.

Sam faced the front, uneasy. "The ages of all the victims were around the same. Late twenties. And, if we _are_ dealing with a Crossroads demon behind this, that means..."

"Shit," Dean swore, shaking his head. "High school kids. Dumbasses probably summoned the demon thinking it was all a joke, and then, when faced with a real-life demon offering anything and everything, hopped into the fire without a thought. Fuck, why do kids gotta be so stupid?"

"You're one to talk," Gabriel chimed in.

Dean flipped him off without taking his eyes off the road.

Sam sighed. "We won't know anything until we interview the families, though I doubt they'll know if this group of kids dabbled in the occult and made a deal. I mean, hell, it coulda just been a prank or dare - a one time thing. ...We could ask the families if they suddenly came into some money, or if someone was _magically _healed."

"Brand new car randomly appearing in the driveway," Dean added. He made a noise of pleased surprise when he spotted an eatery and pulled up to the curb in front of it.

"Or you could just summon the demon," Gabriel commented.

Dean put the car in park. Both he and Sam turned to look back at Gabriel with identical scowls on their faces. Gabriel scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"What?" He asked. "This many mooks pimpin' their souls out in one little borough? Demon's most definitely still chillin' around. Not literally, of course. Crossroads demons are smarter than the average bunch. It's a job requirement, but I'm sure you two are aware o' that. What I mean is: More than likely, the demon's stuck a claim on this little patch of Earth in the off-chance someone else will summon them again. Demons are _greedy_. This one wouldn't risk a rival trying to steal their turf."

Sam frowned and glanced at Dean. "He could be right. Wouldn't hurt to check, I guess. If the wrong demon shows up, we could always just _persuade_ them to tell us what we wanna know."

Dean's scowl remained as Gabriel and Sam stared at him expectedly.

Eventually, he said, "I'll think about it. Breakfast first."

He turned off the car and left. Sam and Gabriel shared a look, one that contained a silent criticism of Dean's stubbornness when it came to doing things differently than he'd always been doing them. They then followed him into the small restaurant.

It was a café, too, Sam realized as they stepped inside. Behind the counter sat many homemade bread-foods and sweets, wrapped in cellophane to protect them. The furniture was rustic and dark, contrasting the brilliant, lime green of the walls. A chalkboard lined the front counter and was decorated with colorful words of thanks as well as the names of the employees.

They took a table near the back and were given menus by a cheerful woman, named Megan, who happily informed them that all of their selections were made with food from local farms. Something that immediately made Sam's ears perk up. She chatted them up while they browsed the menu, seeming to be genuinely interested in why such business-lookin' men were in the area. Gabriel answered her as vague as he could, but with a lazy charm that made her not notice.

Their breakfast consisted of a Southwestern style hash for Dean, a Greek omelet for Sam, and French toast for Gabriel. And the food was delicious, Sam was more than happy to find out. If he could, he'd probably eat there for every meal. It was better, healthier, than most of the food the Winchesters came across. He missed organic food.

They barely discussed the case, more than aware of the small quarters they were in and how well voices traveled. Instead, they made small talk. Dean had complaints about their room's small bathroom and the cramped roads. Sam defended the atmosphere of the borough and discreetly tried to bring up the sheer number of intersections they might could use later. Gabriel was devoted to his French toast, letting them know he was listening only with the occasional one-worded comment or expressive look.

By the end of the meal, Dean reluctantly informed them that they'd go with Gabriel's advice.

He explained, on the ride back to the Inn, that five victims was a lot, and it would take a long time to go around town and hunt down their families. Then, they'd have to piece together a motive that really didn't matter, find anyone else who might've made a deal, and try to warn them and protect them... It was just easier and faster to summon the demon, or _a_ demon, and get answers from them. Best-case scenario, a little intimidation would have the demon calling off the hellhound.

But they'd have to go after dark to accomplish anything. North Wales traffic wasn't exactly light, even though it wasn't exactly heavy. And speeds around the neighborhood were slow, as most of it was residential area. Someone would most definitely see them if they tried to paint a Devil's Trap in the middle of a road in broad daylight. No, they'd come back later, and they'd have about six hours to get their work done before midnight.

After driving around the borough for damn near an hour, scoping a place out, they finally found a decent intersection that had sparse enough traffic and was many yards from any house. Under the cover of darkness, they should be set to get on with their business, if they worked quickly enough. The possibility of summoning the demon and simply moving them to another location was also brought up. Gabriel assured them the concrete would pose no problem for him when it came time to dig a hole to place the summoning box.

Once back at their motel room, Dean and Sam got their equipment ready. Dean handled the salt rounds and guns. Sam checked on the cloth sack with the Devil's Trap on it, making sure there were no breaks in the lines, as well as the ingredients for the summon ritual. When he discovered they were out of graveyard dirt, Dean volunteered to go get some, leaving Sam on gun duty while Gabriel lounged on Sam's bed and watched any television show that could hold his attention for more than five minutes.

"Y'know," Sam prompted, "you could help."

"Already have," Gabriel replied, eyes not leaving the TV. "Gave you info that saved you from doing things the hard way. Gonna dig you a hole. And, if push comes to shove, I may even help you shake up the demon."

Gabriel finally tilted his head to look at him and Sam rolled his eyes.

"One of these days, you're actually going to have to get your hands dirty."

"I take it you mean literally, in which case, mmm, no. Magic, remember?"

Sam did remember, and he frowned. "Dean didn't have to go get graveyard dirt, did he? You could have just snapped some up."

Again, Gabriel shrugged mischievously. "He volunteered. Who am I to stop him?"

"Right." Sam snapped the shotgun in his hands closed and placed it on the table. "Well, I'm going to go volunteer myself to get drinks from the machine in the lobby. You want one?"

"Sam, I'm wounded," Gabriel teased, false hurt lacing his tone. "Why don't you want me to just snap you some up?"

"Because I don't trust things that just appear out of nowhere," Sam replied.

He stood up as Gabriel stuck his tongue out at him.

"No, I don't want one," the Archangel said, turning his head back to face the TV.

Sam left and walked the few yards to the lobby. The drinks in the machine were only a dollar. Sam got two of them anyway. Partially in case Gabriel was being stubborn and he might actually want one, and partially because he wanted to spite him.

When he started walking back to their room, Sam noticed a large dog lying in front of the door. It was mostly white with copper-red coloring on its ears and around its face, a brand of marking like a collie's. In fact, its entire build resembled a collie's. It didn't move as Sam approached it. It kept its head on its paws as if it were bored and waiting for something, or someone.

"Um," Sam started cautiously. "Hey, puppy!"

He grinned at it, now standing but two feet from it.

The dog's caramel eyes looked over towards him, and then it snorted, a pointed ear flicking once, and went back to gazing ahead.

Sam frowned, not used to being shunned by a dog. He squatted slowly, careful not to startle the animal, and placed his drinks on the concrete. He then reached out with his palm up in an effort to coax the dog away from the door.

"Come on," he said, voice light as he motioned with his hand. "Come on. Come on, now, you're keeping me from getting into my room. Where's your owner? You don't have a collar... Hunh. No, seriously, please move."

The dog, however, did not move. It didn't so much as twitch, though its eyes did cut back to Sam.

They stayed in a stalemate for a few more seconds before Sam groaned and bowed his head in defeat.

"I need in my room," he complained. Looking up at the animal, Sam narrowed his eyes, "And you really don't want to be here when my brother gets back. He's not fond of dogs."

Even after having shared a brain with one, Dean was not fond of dogs. He respected them a little more, but he certainly didn't love them.

The dog's ear flicked again and, to Sam's pleasant surprised, it sat up. It leaned towards him just enough to sniff at his hand. She was female.

Sam remained still, hoping the dog would loosen up a little and then go about her business.

When she was done smelling him, she snorted and then started sniffing at the ground at her feet and around the door. Then she growled and trotted away, nose sniffing the air and ground alternately.

Sam watched her go with confusion. She was looking for someone, but Sam didn't know who. Intelligent little thing, though. Most collies were, but he'd never had much chance to see one in action. Shrugging at the strange display, Sam picked up his drinks, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Gabriel was exactly where he'd left him.

"There was a dog outside the door," Sam informed. "She didn't wanna move."

"Maybe she got the wrong door?"

"Probably..." Sam trailed off.

He placed the drinks on the table beside the guns, frowned, and looked over his shoulder at the door. Something about the dog was familiar, reminded him of something, but he couldn't recall what. And that little fact was going to bother him for the rest of the day. At least, until the hunt distracted him later that night.

* * *

**A/N: Psych! I had to break The Hunt into two chapters. Because _I_ need a break, and this woulda been the longest thing ever if I didn't. Y'all are left with the suspense. Also, continue to review, folks. It helps bring attention to this fic, which is every writer's goal.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm going to leave a disclaimer here for everyone to read:**

**I appreciate all of you. I really do. Your comments and involvement keep me motivated. Even when I'm not updating as regularly as you might like, or as often as some writers are able to, I still have this fic in the back of my mind. I _will_ update, unless something completely devastating happens. God forbid.**

**But there are ways to tell me you like my work and ways to _not_ do that.**

**I have a little issue with anxiety. If I'm told something that makes me feel I'm not meeting a 'deadline,' then I'm going to stress myself out. So: Don't give me a timeframe. Jokingly or not. "Please update," or, "I can't wait for the next part," doesn't hit me near as hard.**

**In other news: Fun songs to listen to would be "Wedi colli Rhywbeth Sy'n Annwyl" by Tony ac Aloma and "Brave" by Sara Bareilles.**

* * *

Nightfall eventually came. When it was dark enough, the three of them drove out to the intersection they'd chosen. Sparsely placed street lights lit the roads with an appropriate amount of creepy gloom. The slightly fancy houses that sat far enough away from where they parked seemed calm enough. No movement outside, no noises, just the appearance of the families inside peacefully minding their own business, none the wiser to the supernatural entity about to be summoned near their front yards _or_ the Archangel grumpily frowning out the back window of the Impala.

Sam pursed his lips in amusement as he turned and spotted Gabriel's expression.

"This was your idea, y'know?" He reminded him.

Dean glanced at him, then Gabe, rolled his eyes, and then got out of the car. He headed for the trunk, no doubt to get the supplies and weapons they had prepared earlier.

Gabriel turned his head to give Sam a bored look.

"That doesn't make this suddenly more exciting," he complained.

Sam frowned a little, "We're about to summon a demon to get it to stop killing people. How is doing the right thing not exciting? I mean, considering your track record- "

"Considering my track record, I'd be stringing the pesky billow of smoke up by his toes and then I'd let his dog eat him," Gabriel smiled.

Sam sighed, "Forget I said anything. Just help us place the summoning box in the middle of the road?"

Gabriel tilted his head back and sighed loudly, as if doing what he'd said he was going to do was the most taxing job in the world. Amazing how childish an older-than-dirt Archangel could be. It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes.

Sam got out of the car, followed by one dragging-ass Gabriel. Dean handed Sam Ruby's knife, taking an Angel Blade for himself. Both placed their weapons in their jackets. Next came the spray paint for the Devil's Trap. Sam, once again, hoped no one would come by and catch them graffiti-ing the ground. He was pretty sure that North Wales wasn't exactly used to that sort of behavior, especially in this part of the borough.

When Dean handed him the pair of Holy Fire-burned glasses they had on hand, Sam frowned.

"Why do I need these?" He questioned.

"I heard growling earlier," Dean mumbled, grabbing the cloth sack with the Devil's Trap on it and shoving it in his back pocket, "when I was in the graveyard digging up dirt. It coulda just been a coincidence, or it coulda been the Hellhound nearby. I don't know, but it freaked me the fuck out."

He went on to hand a salt gun to Sam, causing Sam to quickly put the glasses in his pocket to free up a hand. Sam took the extra shots that were handed to him and placed them in a separate pocket. Dean grabbed the ritual box and slammed the trunk shut.

"Better safe than sorry," he stated.

Dean reluctantly handed the box to Gabriel, placing it in Gabriel's outstretched palm. He was giving the Archangel a sour glare, but Gabriel, being Gabriel, didn't seem to give a damn. A small miracle Sam was grateful for. As much as he'd been dreading this trip, being stuck between the rivalry that was his brother and...friend, it had managed to serve the valuable purpose of getting them to _quietly _loathe one another. They were getting better at working together, too. Hopefully, they would continue to put aside their grudges for the sake of the hunt.

"_Don't_ fuck this up," Dean commanded.

Sam's shaky faith in the two of them faltered slightly.

"D'ya ever get tired of repeatin' yourself, Dean-o?" Gabriel snarked, pocketing the box in his over-sized coat. "Ya think I wanna stay here longer than I have to? I'm not going to sabotage the ritual items. Now, how 'bout you go and do _your_ job, hm? Before the universe conspires against you again and ruins your little plan."

Dean mockingly sneered at him but did as he was told.

Sam looked at Gabriel, imploring him to explain why he thought dicking with Dean was necessary. Gabriel's return look simply stated that Dean started it, and he was not sorry. Sam shook his head and joined his brother in the middle of the intersection.

They started on the outer circle of the Devil's Trap, working from opposite ends to complete a half-circle each. Sam and Dean had drawn the sigil so often that keeping the shape of a circle was easy for them. They knew the angles they needed like the back of their hands. It was a bit like dancing, Sam mused, knowing where he needed to stand and how to move, how fast to go so as to not mess himself up.

Finishing the circle, they began the pentagram.

Then Gabriel snapped. Literally and metaphorically.

Sam was a bit embarrassed to hear himself yelp as he jumped back from the red, spray-painted lines that were suddenly _there_ on the ground beneath him. Dean, on the other hand, swore, straightening up to glare heatedly at Gabriel.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Dean shouted over to him, spray can clenched tightly in his hand. "You coulda done that the whole fuckin' time and you've got us breaking our backs and doin' the hard work?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes and began to walk the few yards to them.

"One," he began, holding up a finger, "stop with the dramatics. What you were doing didn't require that much physical work at all. Two, yeah, I coulda. This hunt was _your_ idea. It's _your _job to take out the bad guys. I just sit back and fuck up assholes. So, yes, I was gonna indulge myself and let you handle it."

He came to stand beside them, eyes never leaving Dean's, "But then I got even more bored than I already was. So, I said fuck it! I can draw the damn thing better and faster than you two any day. Now, get outta the circle so I can plant the box and wash my hands of all this."

He made a shooing motion with his hands, which only served to make Dean's jaw clench in barely-controlled fury.

Sam ignored the tense air between the two of them, pocketed the spray can, and replaced it with Ruby's knife. A gun in his left and a blade in his right. He _really _hoped no civilians moseyed their way onto the scene now, not with him looking like some sort of serial killer.

"Come on, Dean," he said, nodding his head to indicate they should move as directed. "Sooner we get it over with, the faster we can stop all this."

Dean glanced at him, glared at Gabriel one more time for good measure, and the two of them stepped back to let Gabriel do his thing.

They walked back towards the Impala and then turned to observe Gabriel.

The Archangel was crouching in the middle of the circle, coat touching the ground because of its length. He held the small box of ritual items in his right hand, and with his left he placed his fingertips against the asphalt in a circle. A second passed, and then a thin light shone from the center of Gabriel's palm. It shot into the road like a laser. The ground beneath his hand crunched as it appeared to disintegrate.

"Did he just..._zap_ the road into nothing?" Dean muttered.

"Yeah, yeah that's kinda what it looked like."

Sam wasn't as stunned as Dean seemed to be. He remembered the times Castiel had let his Grace flare out from his own palm. Especially in that diner with Eve. He'd nuked everything not human. But what Sam did focus on was the fact that only a small, brief burst of Grace from Gabriel had caused the, seemingly, total destruction of solid matter. _That_ was impressive. And terrifying. Because Gabriel was still recovering, and yet he had the strength to raze. It brought disturbing notions of what could've happened had Michael and Lucifer been allowed to fight on Earth.

Gabriel removed his hand from the small crater he'd made, placed the box inside it, and then stood up. With a snap, the asphalt was back to normal. He put his hands in his pants' pockets and walked towards them.

Sam frowned and pointed towards the Devil's Trap.

"Did you just...?" He began to ask.

"Use high levels of energy to zap some concrete into dust and then reconstruct said concrete? Yes." Gabriel replied, indifferent. "Please, Sam. Y'all monkeys have developed lasers that can pretty much do the same thing."

"Oh," Sam answered. He might've made a more complicated explanation in his head...

"_Seriously,_ why don't you do that shit all the time?" Dean groused, holding his palms upwards as Gabriel passed them. "And where are you going?"

"In the car!" Gabriel chirped merrily.

Opening the backseat of the Impala, he stuck one foot in, hand on the roof.

He paused to direct a smile at Dean, "I'm not risking your soon-to-be demon buddy figurin' out I got - _had_ \- wings, m'kay? Have fun!"

Gabriel patted the Impala and then practically fell into its backseat, slamming the door with a sense of cranky, spoiled finality. Even from outside, on the dimly lit street, Sam could make out Gabriel's slight scowl.

Dean's spray can clattering to the road startled Sam, causing him to jerk his head towards it.

Right. That was a good idea. Sam reached into his pocket and tossed his down to join Dean's. As it bounced along the ground, Sam wondered why it had felt lighter.

The two of them trekked towards the Trap. Sam quickly put the knife into his belt so he could place the 'holy' glasses on, and then drew it back out. He still felt awkward as hell holding two weapons.

"Remind me again why I let you convince me to take his ass along with us?" Dean complained.

"He's useful?" Sam asked, coming to stop at the edge of the circle. "You didn't like the idea of leaving him alone?"

"Yeah, that last part sounds more accurate," Dean replied, facing Sam to give him a suspiciously blank look.

Sam sighed, "He's Gabriel. He already told you he wasn't going to 'sweep up our messes'. I don't know why you're surprised."

"Oh, I'm not surprised. _I'm annoyed, _Sam. Because - and I hate to admit it - he _is_ useful, _he just won't act like it._"

"Well, he kinda just did, Dean."

"Well, he could kinda do it all the time!"

Sam shrugged off Dean's complaints and decided to summon the demon _now,_ before he and his brother wasted the night away arguing over the Archangel's wishy-washy attitude on just how far he wanted to lift a finger.

Sam knew what the problem was. Dean wanted a quick, efficient solution to all of their problems. From hunts to the bigger things. And, if he was honest with himself, Sam kinda wanted that, too. But they were both barking up the wrong tree if they thought Gabriel would be that solution.

Sam wasn't bothered by that. He kinda liked Gabriel simply for Gabriel's sake. Dean, on the other hand, hated that the angel wasn't going to give him what he wanted. And he also didn't like not knowing when Gabriel was going to help and when he wasn't. Dean did_ not_ like unpredictability in his hunting partners.

They steeled themselves, feet subconsciously spreading apart. Dean drew his Angel Blade. Then, Sam spoke the incantation to make the Crossroad's demon appear.

Immediately, a middle-aged man appeared before them. The red-tinted smoke and twisted face of a demon overlaid on the Vessel's face nearly caused Sam to flinch.

Okay, so, he was not used to seeing the true form of a demon. Jesus Christ, was this what Cas saw every time he looked at a demon? Gabriel, too?

The poor man whom the demon was possessing was tall, wearing a black suit, and well-kempt. Athletic. Dark brown hair and eyes. His hair was tied back into a ponytail at the base of his skull.

Sam tried, and failed, to not think of the rich villains he'd seen in TV shows that sported a similar appearance. He wondered how many Crossroads demons targeted wealthy, ignorant, potentially dick-ish 'clients.' Recounting all the ones he'd come across, how many had aimed for 'classy,' and especially _Crowley_...he guessed the number was pretty high.

The demon's smug smile, on both faces, faltered as soon as his eyes landed on their weapons. Next, he took in the Trap at his feet. He sighed loudly, shoulders slumping.

"Winchesters?" He questioned, though his tone of voice indicated he was pretty damn sure that's who they were.

"Oh, good, you've heard of us," Dean smirked, waving the Blade tauntingly. "That means you know why we're here."

The demon flashed his red eyes at Dean. When they went back to the Vessel's normal brown, he shrugged.

"I'd assume it has something to do with the hellhound collecting the souls that were promised to me fair and square?" He asked, tone innocent.

"Fair and square?" Sam asked. "Is that what you call duping some teenagers into selling their souls? Did they even know you weren't kidding?"

The demon's gaze lazily flicked over to him. Despite the ease in his expressions, Sam could see that the demon was tense. He knew he was screwed.

"They summoned me in a graveyard. I showed up. If they couldn't logically surmise that I was a _demon_ and, therefore, _not kidding_, that's on them. I'm just doing my job."

"And we're doing ours," Dean nearly growled. "Call off your mutt."

"No."

Dean removed the cloth sack from his back pocket and showed it to demon.

"Call off your mutt, or we're going to take you for a ride. And we'll _make_ you tell us where the goddamned thing'll be."

The demon stared at the sack for a long moment before his eyes trailed back up to Dean's. Sam expected him to taunt Dean, to snap back with something witty and virulent like all demons did. Instead, though, the demon turned his attention back to Sam.

"Humans are so easy to sway," he purred. "Those kids you think were oh-so-pure? All they wanted were simple things. Good grades. Better friends. Heh, a _girlfriend_ for the nerd. One just wanted a way to leave this city. ...Guess they came back. Not that it matters."

Sam clenched his teeth, fist tightening around Ruby's knife. He hated demons. Every time he talked to one he was rudely reminded of why.

The demon looked back to Dean, "Not one of them thought about asking for _power._"

Sam cast a worried glance in Dean's direction. Dean had caught the possible insinuation, too, his back stiff at the slight accusation.

Was this demon able to sense the Mark on Dean? Was... Was Dean changing that fast?

"Well," Dean tried to play it off, "you're right. Sucks for them. But it's gonna suck for you, too, if you don't give us what we want. I ain't gonna ask again."

The demon smirked at Dean, "I don't think so. Not unless you want to make deal."

Dean shrugged nonchalantly and shifted his weight, about to take a step towards the demon, when the sound of the Impala's door opened. Both he and Sam turned to glance back at Gabriel, who was, for whatever reason, walking towards them. As if he wasn't interrupting. Again.

Sam inhaled sharply through his nose. The glasses let him see some of Gabriel's true form, as well. The mirage-like outline of his halo and the mostly bare wings, chunks of skin missing from having been burnt away, glowed stunningly behind him. For a moment, Sam forgot how to think, too shocked, and slightly appalled, by what he was seeing. Gabriel's wings shouldn't look like that.

"I swear to God," Dean growled at the Archangel, pulling Sam from his thoughts.

"Save it, Dean," Gabriel remarked.

"Really?" The demon questioned, sounding bored. "The great Winchesters need back-up?"

"No," Sam and Dean chorused, glaring back at him.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, surprised to find it hard to not let Gabriel's name roll off his tongue.

"Oh, nothing," Gabriel replied, checking the demon out from head to toe as he came to stand behind them, "just thought I'd tell ya to hurry up and off this asshole. He's wasting you're time, and you don't need him."

"What?" Sam asked.

"How do _you_ know?" Demanded Dean.

"Who the hell are you?" The demon questioned with the same amount of ire Dean'd had.

Gabriel shook his head, "Wow. Lotta questions, guys. One at a time. First, not gonna bother to tell you who I am, Smokey, as you'll be dead in a minute. Second, _kill him_. He's got the contract. End him, end it. But the hellhound's already got the scent, and you've got no guarantee it won't go through with the kill anyway. No master to call it off. The longer you dally here, the longer it'll take to find the pooch."

"Um, okay," Sam started. "That doesn't explain how we're going to _find_ the hellhound."

Gabriel tipped his head back and groaned. Without warning, a flash of silver dropped into his hand. Before Sam or Dean could stop him, he rushed forward and stabbed the demon in the abdomen. Light poured out of the silently-screaming creature before he fell to the ground, dead. Gabriel frowned at them.

"I tried to give ya that one, boys, but ya just couldn't handle it, could ya?"

"Okay, y'know what? Fuck you," Dean stated.

He took a step forward, Angel Blade raised, with all the intent to use it against the Archangel.

Sam quickly pocketed his knife and reached for Dean, grabbing him by the shoulder farthest from himself. Sam pressed him back, using his arm as a barrier to keep Dean at bay. Dean fought him, but only a little. If he'd truly wanted to, he could have slipped passed Sam and made a monumental mistake.

"Dean, knock it off," Sam warned, looking quickly over his shoulder to gauge Gabriel's reaction.

Gabriel was unaffected, one eyebrow raised in false interest. His Archangel Blade disappeared back into his sleeve.

"Get in the car, Dean," Gabriel spoke slowly.

Sam had to push back against Dean, _again_, because, obviously, Dean Winchester didn't like being told what to do by an asshole Archangel who'd just murdered their 'go-to' plan.

"No!" Dean shouted at Gabriel, right in Sam's ear. "No, I'm not going to _get in the car_, asshat. What the fuck is your problem? You're more indecisive than a -"

The sound of a growl caused Dean to pause.

Sam could feel him tense. He tensed, too, and turned his head to look towards his left, back behind Dean.

A dog stood near the Impala. One that wasn't _really _a dog. Not according to the glasses. No, this dog was glowing. Wisps of white drifted off its fur and swirled into the night air behind it. The red on its ears looked like the color of blood. Its eyes flared like ruby-colored embers.

Sam remembered that coloration, and he was pretty sure that, if he removed his glasses, he would see the collie-looking dog that had once been innocently lying in front of their motel room hours before.

"Dean," Sam cautioned, careful not to raise his voice, not daring to look away from the growling dog as it stalked towards them slowly.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean hissed at him, just as quiet. "Shoot it!"

"It's not a hellhound! It's something else!"

"What sorta somethin' else?!"

With a bark, the dog sprinted towards them. Sam left go of Dean and aimed his salt gun. The spectral hound might not be demonic in origin, but salt was a good deterrent against many supernatural creatures. He _might_ do a lot of damage to the dog. If it was immune to salt? Hopefully the impact would be enough to discourage it. Because, if it wasn't, they might be fucked.

"Dean, run!" He commanded.

Dean obliged, his footsteps loud on the asphalt.

Ignoring his pounding heart, Sam fired. The sawed-off shotgun's blast cut through air, echoing sharply. The dog didn't flinch. It didn't even yelp. Sam took a step back, fired again, but the dog kept coming. This was not a scenario he was used to. He should run. He should probably run because the creature was damn near a yard away. Holy shit.

However, he didn't have time to run. He flinched, waiting for the agonizing pain of teeth shredding his skin. The feeling never came, as the dog ran right passed him.

Sam watched after it, brow furrowed and mouth slightly agape in confusion. He watched it run right past Gabriel, too, who, Sam had to admit, he'd forgotten was even there. Gabriel watched the creature pass him as if there wasn't a problem at all.

It was after Dean, Sam realized. Dean was standing at the far side of the intersection, turning to run again_, _and the dog was bolting towards him as if it were on a mission. Dean swore as he took off.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, panicking.

His gun was useless. Even if he reloaded, the creature wouldn't stop. He didn't know why it was after his brother, and he didn't know how to stop it.

"GABRIEL!" Sam nearly shrieked, giving him a wide-eyed, imploring look.

Gabriel, entirely too calm, placed his pinkies into the corner of his mouth and whistled.

To Sam's surprise, the spectral hound immediately stopped chasing its prey and laid down on the ground. Sam shook his head, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Dean looked over his shoulder and, upon seeing imminent death no longer on his heels, he clomped to a stop. Even as far away as he'd managed to get from Sam and Gabriel, Sam could tell Dean seemed just as confused as he was. Breathing heavily, Dean lifted his arms in a shrug, silently asking what the fuck was going on.

Gabriel whistled again, a different command, and the dog got up and _came to him_.

Sam watched, flabbergasted, as Gabriel turned and the creature walked up to him, as tame as any domesticated pet.

Gabriel crouched down and began to playfully scratch the dog behind its - hers, Sam remembered - ears. He was smiling, Sam noted. As if he was completely used to, and okay with, petting the spectral hound that wanted to make Dean her lunch.

Sam pointed a shaky finger at the glowing dog as Dean began to storm towards them, bodily language clearly giving away his intention of kicking someone's ass. A someone most likely named Gabriel. Sam, for once, wasn't against that plan.

"What the hell?" He demanded of the Archangel.

Gabriel patted the panting dog's side and looked up at Sam.

"Not hell," he vaguely explained. "_Fae_."

"Gabriel!" Dean shouted angrily, closing in. "That had better not be _your_ fucking mutt, or so help me!"

The creature turned her head to growl at Dean. Dean glared at her but kept walking.

"Stop that," Gabriel told the dog gently. "He's not the one you're after."

He stood and continued, "And it's not my dog, Dean, so cool your jets."

"What do you mean Dean's not the one she's after?" Sam question. "She was gunnin' right for him!"

"Hate to bring up a touchy subject, but she's not after _Dean_. She's after demonic presences."

Dean's step faltered a little as he heard what Gabriel said. Sam looked hesitantly toward him. He knew what Gabriel was implying. He knew Dean knew it too, and that it bothered his brother. They really needed to do something about the Mark, and fast. For everyone's sake, but especially Dean's.

"So, what?" Dean began, finally standing near them. "Lassie sniffs Mr. Crossroads out and then comes after me? Is that what you're hinting at?"

Gabriel shrugged, "I told you to get in the car."

"It was already here by the time you said that, ya dick!"

"Wait," Sam interrupted. "Since when did fairy - _fae,_ or whatever - creatures hunt down demons?"

"It's not demons so much as nasty vermin that needs to be dragged into the afterlife. Demons just happen to fall into that category. Well, kinda. It's a tricky subject. Honestly, never seen one o' these dogs hunt demons, but I had my suspicions."

"You-" Dean shifted his weight angrily, "You had _suspicions_ this thing was roaming around? And you didn't think it important to fuckin' clue a guy in?"

"It's why I told you to summon the demon in the first place, Dean," Gabriel replied cooly. "Ya summon the demon. If she showed up? Then I'd have a good clue of what's going on. If she didn't? Well, you two boys'd have a little fun torturing the asshat before going after his mutt."

"You said we didn't need the demon anymore," Sam mumbled, figuring it out. "Because this dog, whatever she is, can track down the hellhound. You used the demon as bait to call the dog."

"Bingo," Gabriel said. He glanced at Dean, "Now, are we gonna get outta here and hunt us some hellspawn, or are we gonna wait for the cops to show up any minute? Two gunshots, at night, in the middle of a neighborhood? Bound to draw attention."

Dean groaned, dragging his hands down his face. He glared down at the dog, then up at Gabriel. He pointed at the hound.

"It throws up in my car? You're cleaning it up. It chews on my car? I'm kicking your ass, _then_ you're gonna fix it."

"Blah, blah, blah, time's a tickin'."

Dean stormed off towards the Impala. Sam watched him go, then looked down at the spectral hound, glowing fur still giving off its weird wisp effect.

"You could've just told us what you were planning," Sam muttered.

He didn't like how secretive Gabriel was being. He understood it, a little bit. Gabriel was probably used to working alone. He was probably used to making people have to piece together whatever lesson, what revelation, he was trying to give them. Their trip through TV Land hinted at that. It was possible he simply didn't think it mattered if they knew what was going on, as long as the end result was the same.

But it did matter. How else did Gabriel think they'd ever truly come to trust him, or his judgment, if he kept his mouth shut as they wandered into more dangerous set-ups? ...Frankly, it reminded Sam of his time being soulless. That thought only unsettled him further.

Gabriel cut his eyes to him, noticed his expression, and then sighed heavily, shoulders drooping a little.

"And Dean woulda shot it down," Gabriel replied.

"You don't know that."

Gabriel threw his hands up in surrender. It wasn't in agreement, though. He just didn't want to argue. Sam could see the way his tattered wings drew in on themselves, as if trying to make Gabriel appear smaller.

"Y'know," Sam began, "for a second there I kinda thought I was gonna die."

Gabriel flinched at that, both with his body and his wings. His brow furrowed as he stared at Sam, wounded and defensive.

"Maybe next time you should say something."

Sam didn't wait to see what Gabriel's reaction would be, he just left, gun limply held by his side. And he didn't look back. Not even when Gabriel snapped his fingers, most likely to get rid of any evidence that they'd been there.

* * *

They'd all piled into the Impala, even the dog, and driven away from the intersection as quickly and stealthily as possible. Unfortunately, given the Impala's engine, that wasn't all that stealthy, even with the lights turned off until they were a safe enough distance away. Hopefully, no one would clue the police into the sounds of a muscle car.

Dean was pissed.

Sam understood. He was kind of pissed himself. Gabriel had played them. Even if his plan sounded like the best course of action, the most efficient, he'd played them. The outcome didn't matter. And his flippant attitude about it only made things worse.

What Sam didn't understand was why Gabriel felt the need to make a front about anything. Why pretend to not be helping when it was clear that's exactly what he was doing? He'd done it years ago back at Elysian Fields. 'I'm sentimental,' he'd dismissed. And he was doing it now. It was infuriating, and it made Sam wonder if Gabriel would ever truly be honest about his feelings. A thought that...made him sort of distraught. About something completely unrelated to hunting.

Dean's other reason for being pissed at Gabriel ran along a completely different vein from Sam's, however. A dog was in Dean's car. A _supernatural_ dog. One that he wasn't currently mind-melded with, so she didn't get the acceptance Colonel'd been given. Though, Dean had rolled down the window for her under Gabriel's orders. So she could scent the air, or so the Archangel had claimed.

"This is ridiculous," Dean complained, glaring at the road ahead. "How do we even know there's gonna be more victims?"

"How'd ya know it before you struck off on this journey?" Gabriel replied cheekily from the back.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, silently fuming because Gabriel had a point.

"Better safe than sorry," he grumbled.

"The demon talked as if there were more," Sam spoke. "I think he'd've bragged if the hellhound had already done its job."

Dean nodded. "So, now that we're not running for our lives, mind tellin' us what the hell that thing is?"

"Fae," Gabriel corrected.

"That don't roll off the tongue."

"Sam knows."

Sam frowned, looking over his shoulder at the Archangel. He had to quickly school his features to not flinch at the sight of so much _glow_ smushed in the backseat. Not to mention it was disturbing to see Gabriel's wings phasing through stuff. If he didn't think the glasses might come in handy in helping search for the hellhound, he would've removed them just to save himself a headache.

"I do?" He asked while squinting.

"You _were_ the one smart enough to bring along _Different Breeds of Spectral Hounds_."

Sam faced the front again, just to give his eyes a break, and searched his brain for whatever breed Gabriel was trying to hint at him. He'd spent most of his time reading the hellhound portion of it while on their trip to Pennsylvania. He'd only _glanced_ at the other dogs and the hand-drawn illustrations of each.

He took a deep breath when he finally remembered why the red-eared, white creature had seemed so familiar when he'd seen it at the motel. He'd read that brief descriptor in the book, and he'd thought nothing of it when applied to a normal-looking dog.

"Cŵn Annwn."

"'Coon' what?" Dean asked.

"Cŵn Annwn. It's a Welsh spectral hound. I didn't read everything about 'em, just skimmed through, but they're kinda like hellhounds. They chase down souls. They're just from the faerie realm, _Annwn_, and not Hell."

Dean nodded slowly and then shook his head. "I still have no idea what any o' that is."

"Different religion, different dog," Gabriel supplied. "They were often confused as hellhounds by Christians. Which was ironic, considering these guys hunt down nasty souls instead o' dragging perfectly good ones down to Hell because of a deal. And Annwn is _nothing_ like Hell, trust me."

"What is it with dogs huntin' down souls? What, death ain't traumatic enough?"

Sam shrugged. Humans used dogs to hunt down game, and had for thousands of years. Maybe they got the idea from the supernatural. Or, maybe the supernatural got the idea from humans. It was interesting to ruminate on, but they kind of had more important things to do than ponder who had the most influence on the universe.

"Hunting isn't the only thing the Cŵn Annwn did," Gabriel added. "They also acted as guides to the Otherworld. Like sheepdogs! Which is the form this lil' girl decided to take. Gotta commend her sense of irony, being a _Welsh_ sheepdog. In North Wales."

"Yeah, okay, so pooch has the same shitty sense of humor you do," Dean began, ignoring the indignant snort said pooch aimed towards the back of his head, "but can you clear up just how _she_ plans on helping us out?"

"I'd assume she'd sniff out the hellhound and, I don't know, _point_?" Sam offered.

Dean turned his head to stare at him, blandly replying, "Well, it'd be a lot more helpful than you, Four-eyes."

Sam met Dean's comment with annoyance and a disapproving frown.

"You want the glasses?" He challenged.

Dean was silent a moment, weighing his options. If he declined the glasses, he might be admitting that Sam was better at the 'job' of hellhound hunting than he was. (Which, considering Sam was the one to kill a hellhound in the past, was a thought that had evidence in its favor.) If he accepted them, he'd be forced to do the boring part of the job _while_ driving.

Dean held out his hand, Sam mischievously put the spectacles into said hand, and then Dean put them on. As Sam suspected he would, Dean immediately glanced into the backseat via the rearview mirror. He shouted in surprise, jerking the wheel of the car on accident. The Impala swerved briefly before Dean righted it between the painted lines on the road.

"Holy shit!" Dean exclaimed, eyes darting constantly between the road and rearview mirror. "Do you glow like that all the time?"

"Who? Me?" Gabriel asked.

Sam smirked. So maybe he'd wanted to give Dean an idea of what Gabriel truly was, what was _really_ traveling with them. He hoped it'd give his brother a little perspective, at least. He certainly didn't expect Dean to suddenly respect the Archangel, or anything. He just wanted his brother to stop poking the bear because of the illusion that Gabriel was simply a shorter man he could kick around.

"Yeah, you!"

"Generally," came Gabriel's flatter answer.

"Your wings look horrible," Dean breathed, genuinely disturbed by the sight.

Sam stared at his brother in shock. He was correct, of course. Gabriel's wings _did_ look terrible. However, Dean didn't have to point that out. He was pretty sure Gabriel knew the sad state they were in. At the very least, he could've pointed out the damage with more tact.

"Gee," Gabriel deadpanned, "thanks, Dean-o. Caught me at a bad time. Haven't been able to groom them after _falling from Heaven_ and _burning the whole way down_. Skin just will not grow back for some damn reason."

Sam cringed. He barely remembered the angels falling, seeing the trails of fire streaking through the air. Hearing that one crash into something that sounded like water. It'd been so _loud_. He remembered flinching from it. At the time, though, he'd been too sick to really grasp what was happening. The Word had been roasting him alive, after all.

Now that he thought about it, there was a bit of irony there. The angels on fire; himself on fire. He wasn't laughing, though.

Dean also looked cowed, corners of his lips pulled down into a small frown. He removed the glasses and handed them back to Sam, who took them and immediately put them back on.

"On second thought, I'd rather not constantly be distracted by Tinker Bell back there."

"Didn't you _nuke_ Tinker Bell?" Sam questioned.

"She started it!"

They descended into a semi-awkward silence. Awkward because of the unpleasant topic of charred wings still hanging in the air. It passed, eventually. After they'd made it back to the main part of the borough, cruising down the grid-pattern roads and waiting for the Cŵn Annwn to make a hit. To do _something_ other than sniff the air and then pant.

Gabriel suggested they'd do the smart thing and _walk_. Scents mixed in the air when driving down the road. Plus, it wasn't like she could tell them the direction to turn or anything. Dean absolutely refused. It was faster to drive, and they were working on the clock. However, Gabriel had a point. When Sam sided with the Archangel, Dean reluctantly admitted defeat.

The Impala was parked in an empty spot beside what appeared to be an empty house. Hopefully, if anyone _did_ live in the oddly dilapidated two-story, they wouldn't return for quite some time. Some folks didn't approve of strangers' vehicles parked on their property, and Sam knew well enough what Dean's reaction would be to his car being towed. He'd seen it before.

Once again, Sam was given the sawed-off salt gun to command. An Angel Blade was also handed to him, in the event the hellhound got too close. Dean took his own, a handful of extra shot, and a canister of salt for good measure. The trunk was shut, and then they joined Gabriel and the hound at the front of the Impala.

They followed behind the Cŵn Annwn as she trotted down the street, her snout to the ground as she sniffed. Any cars that passed ignored them. Dean's and Sam's guns were hidden in their jackets, and, to the drivers, the hound seemed like a normal dog. They were just a trio of men walking their pet.

The trail took them to Main Street, where they turned left and followed the sidewalk.

Roughly ten minutes passed as they walked. Enough time for Gabriel to complain about how bored he was and for Dean to tell him to suck it up. With a growl that startled the trio, the Cŵn Annwn began to sprint. Sam and Dean, with Gabriel bringing up the rear, bolted after her.

It didn't help them any that she ran much faster than they did.

Their destination turned out to be a church. St. Peter's, according to the sign in the front lawn.

The building itself was a combination of older and newer-looking structures. It appeared to be white, though Sam couldn't be sure in the dark. Could have been grey. The main portion of the church, where the nave was, had the stereotypical church design. It had a large front door, painted red; three pairs of thin, tall stained glass windows; a bell tower and a shingled steeple.

To the left, closer to them, was a more modern-looking part that connected to it. Much of its front was covered by shrubs and a large bush that may as well have been called a small tree.

Said bush is what blocked their view of the broken glass where one of the doors used to be. Sam swore under his breath when he saw it. Person sells their soul to a demon, thinking it's a joke, only to find all their friends dying ten years later? Near the same time they start to hallucinate a dog howling for them? Yeah, Sam could kind of understand why they might go to a church.

He hoped they weren't too late.

The Cŵn Annwn streaked across the paved path, up to the broken doors, and leaped through the hole that was in them. She disappeared, taking a right further into the church, before they could catch up.

"Wouldja hold up!" Dean shouted after her. "Freakin' inconsiderate..."

Sam reached the doors first. He stopped and eased his way through, careful not to catch himself on the shards of glass that still remained in the frame. Once clear, he took the same right the Cŵn Annwn had. The inner doors were thrown open. They led to the nave, Sam noted, spying the pews that sat within. He could hear the sounds of a dog fight - snarls and yelps.

Dean grunted as he forced his way in after Sam, but Sam didn't wait for his brother. He drew his gun and ran into the nave. Inside, his gaze was drawn to the left. A young man was writhing on the floor near the chancel. Sam barely registered the blood on the floor before he was running full-sprint towards him.

"Sam!" Dean called out to him, sounding as if he'd made it into the large room.

Sam ignored him in favor of tending to the man at his feet.

His frantic eyes met Sam's as he futilely tried to keep his own blood from gushing out of a fatal wound on his neck.

Sam swore as dropped to his knees, tossing his gun onto the ground so he could help press against the vicious gash. As if that would do anything other than coat his hands in blood. After all, it wasn't just a neck wound the guy was dealing with. The hellhound had scratched him in the lower abdomen, as well. A nasty reminder of what had happened to Jo.

Sam swore again.

A shotgun blast echoed off the walls and was followed by a yelp.

"Gabri-" Sam tried to call the Archangel, only to grunt as an arm clipped him in the ribs.

"Move," Gabriel commanded, easily brushing Sam to the side.

Sam moved back.

He took a quick glance at the fighting hounds. They'd knocked one pew onto its back and shattered portions of it. The Cŵn Annwn was growling around the hind leg of the hellhound in its mouth, jerking its head and pulling the creature away from Dean, who stood between the dogs and the others, his gun aimed for another shot. Dean couldn't see the hound, but he could see the claw marks it was making on the carpeted floor. His next shot hit home, scoring the hellhound on the back. It yelped, dark smoke and black blood flying into the air.

A flash of light drew Sam's attention back down to the dying man on the floor beside him. Gabriel had placed his hands around the man's neck.

He was healing him.

It wasn't instantaneous. The glow of Grace stayed in the air for a few good seconds while the man, confused, clawed at the Archangel's fingers and gasped. Gabriel's wings and halo dimmed a little. Light shone brightly under the young man's skin, peaked out of the gashes in his abdomen, and then soon faded completely.

When Gabriel removed his hands and stepped away, heading towards the fighting dogs, the man looked at Sam. He looked down at himself, now devoid of any cuts or scrapes, in uncertain relief and awe, and then he looked up at Sam again.

"What's your name?" Sam asked, grabbing ahold of the man's arm and pulling him into a sitting position.

"Uh. Uh, P-Pryce?"

"Okay, well. Pryce? Demons are real. Your soul is free. Don't fuck with magic. Now go!"

The young man, Pryce, gaped at Sam before he emphatically nodded his head and quickly clambered to his feet. Sam watched him run down the nave towards the doors. When he was satisfied that Pryce wasn't foolish enough to tempt fate a second time, Sam grabbed his gun and stood.

He brought it up to aim at the hellhound. However, the barking, biting demonic creature was hidden behind one of the pews, as was the Cŵn Annwn, still trying to tear its leg off, and he couldn't get a clear shot. Dean appeared to still have his gun trained on it, though.

"Any day now, Dean," Gabriel suggested, standing behind him with his hand held out to his side in a curious gesture. "Can't hold 'im forever. Kinda running low on juice. Saving boneheads takes it outta a guy."

Dean growled and lowered his weapon. Sam jogged over to them, wondering why his brother was hesitating. When Dean pulled out the Angel Blade that was in his jacket, however, Sam clued in. It'd be better to stab the creature with one of the supernatural blades in their possession, rather than to continue to pump it full of salt. Better, quicker, _and_ easier. _If_ Dean could see the damn thing, so as not to have his hand bitten off.

"Here," Sam offered, taking off the glasses he'd been wearing and handing them to Dean.

Dean took them, put them on, and readied himself for the kill.

Sam watched him slowly approach what looked like a now-empty space on the floor. Which was a jarring shift, not being able to see the translucent, blue-black smoke that formed the hellhound. Also, the Cŵn Annwn was back to being a ginger-eared, white sheepdog. One that was angrily glaring at nothing, holding on to nothing, and occasionally jerking its head back for seemingly no reason.

Sam frowned at the sight, then he refocused on Dean.

When Dean got close enough, and when he was sure Gabriel's hold wasn't going to lift, he lunged down onto the invisible hound.

It didn't yelp that time. The blade made the sickening sound of stabbing through flesh and bone. An outline of the hellhound flashed through the air, similar to how its master had done almost an hour earlier, and then black blood started to pool around the blade.

Dean twisted the weapon for good measure and then stood. The Cŵn Annwn let go of the leg she'd been holding for, perhaps, the whole struggle. She didn't appear to be wounded, which was a plus.

"Fuckin' Christ!" Dean breathed as he tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the blood from the Angel Blade.

"You're...kinda in a church, Dean," Sam teased.

It wasn't really the time for teasing. His hands were still covered in Pryce's blood, a problem he was about to solve by sacrificing his button-up shirt, the _floor_ was still covered in Pryce's blood, and the unfortunate St. Peter's church was a mess. Yet, he had to break the tension somehow. What better way than ill-timed jokes?

"Oh, like I care!" Dean snapped at him. "The _hell_hound certainly didn't! What happened to the kid?"

"I told him to run."

"Good plan," Gabriel mumbled. "I say we follow it, too! Smashed doors? Gunshots?"

"You're _very_ good at telling us when to run, Gabriel," Dean criticized.

"Gonna pretend I didn't hear what you're insinuating, buddy boy. _Let's go_." He snapped his fingers, and Sam instantly noticed the clean feeling his hands suddenly gained. "And _now_ I'm gonna stop doing that."

"But you were so eager to 'stretch' back in Ohio," Sam prodded.

He followed after the Archangel as he began to leave. Dean followed after him. Sam decided against bringing up how Dean called the remaining spectral hound to do the same. Maybe the two of them had bonded in their time of war. More than Dean or Gabriel ever would, apparently.

"I strained somethin'," Gabriel replied cheekily. "Note the destruction and pool of blood still on the floor. Just didn't want ya bloodying the place up. In fact, I think I remember Dean warning you about getting blood on his upholstery."

"While the dick has a point, I'm gonna have to ask you two leave me outta your lover's quarrels," Dean told them.

"Dean," Sam warned.

The cops weren't waiting for them when they squeezed back through the hole in the outer door's frame. Luckily for them. Sam and Dean hid their guns back in their coats. Dean put the glasses in his pocket, grumbling about how much he hated the things because they still reminded him of 'old man' glasses. And, Cŵn Annwn in tow, the trio walked quickly back onto the sidewalk lining Main Street.

They just had to make it back to the Impala and they'd be home free.

Only a couple of yards from the church, however, the sound of horse hooves clopping against asphalt caused them to pause.

Sam and Dean looked at one another, confused at hearing the sound of a galloping horse, at night, in the middle of a borough that didn't particular seem that farm-friendly. Why the hell were they hearing a horse?

The Cŵn Annwn's woofed quietly, drawing their attention. Her ears perked up, and then her tail started to wag with all the fervor of an excited puppy. She barked happily and dashed into the street. An action that forced an involuntary cry of distress from Sam.

He'd had enough of dogs being hit by motor vehicles.

He barely registered the way Gabriel was slowly, quietly trying to position himself on the other side of Sam.

"What are you doing?" Dean hissed at the dog. "Get back here!"

The galloping grew louder as the hound ignored Dean, sitting in the middle of the road expectantly.

A brilliant flash of light temporarily blinded Sam. He shouted in surprise, throwing his arm over his eyes as he often did when angels used too much of their Grace around him. He heard Dean cry out, too.

Just as quickly as it'd come, the light faded. Sam tentatively lowered his arm, and his jaw dropped.

A black horse stood in the middle of the road, pawing at the road and snorting, a few feet from the Cŵn Annwn, and on it sat a fair-haired man with red and blue robes of very fine material. Sam was reminded of the LARPing experience he'd had with Charlie. Renaissance festivals that really didn't understand the meaning of the word. The expression on the man's face was clearly not amused or pleased.

"Loki," he said.

He had an accent. Sam couldn't place it. He first thought of Ireland, then maybe Scotland, before figuring out it was probably actually Welsh. North Wales, even if in Pennsylvania, the Cŵn Annwn... It made sense if it was a Welsh accent. Not that he had much experience with those at all.

At sensing Gabriel's flinch from beside him, Sam now realized why the Archangel was trying to _hide_ behind him.

"Or should I call you by your true name, _Gabriel?_ Mind explaining to me what you're doing with my hound?"

Sam looked over his shoulder to stare at Gabriel. Gabriel's lips were pursed. He definitely did not want to entertain their new guest. Most likely _faerie_ guest, now that Sam thought about it. Oh, joy. More fun for one night.

He then turned to look at Dean.

His brother wasn't doing much better than Gabriel when it came to striking up a conversation with the stranger. In fact, Dean was too stunned to be suspicious or threatening. He was speechless. A rare moment for Dean Winchester. He kept glancing from the horse, to the man, to the Cŵn Annwn, and back that Sam was afraid he'd strain his eyes.

"Gwyn!" Gabriel called happily, stepping out from behind Sam with his hands raised for peace. "Not upset about what I did to Gwydion, are ya?"

"He had it coming," 'Gwyn' replied, narrowed eyes still focused on the Archangel.

"Okay," Dean started, finding his words, "I'm getting real tired of being the only one not in the know around here. _Who the fuck is this guy_, and where the hell did he come from?"

A glare was directed at Dean from both Gwyn and his hound. Dean frowned at them, taking a cautious step back.

"Gwyn ap Nudd," Gabriel informed. "Ruler of the Otherworld, Annwn. Used to go huntin' with him, when I could spare the time."

"Wait," Sam began, remembering something from the Men of Letters' book, "_Gabriel's Hounds?_ That was a real thing?"

"Gotta admit, wasn't too fond that they named them that. I mean, I was in _Witness Protection_. D'ya know how hard it was to not flinch whenever someone brought them up? 'Oh, no, they found me!' Humans are insightful."

Gabriel gave him one of his Trickster smiles.

"So you know this guy? Oh, excuse me, _Lord_ Gwyn?" Dean questioned, pointing at the faerie king.

"It would not be wise to mock me," Gwyn warned him calmly.

Dean quickly dropped his hand to his side. At least he'd err on the side of caution with _this_ supernatural being. Good thing, since they had no idea what he was capable of. Other than he appeared in a flash of light and owned dogs that hunted down spirits.

Gabriel paused, "Yeah! Thought that'd be obvious by the way I said we'd hunted together."

Dean gave him a deadpanned look.

"What brings ya here, Gwyn?" Gabriel smiled, looking up at him. "Isn't it a little bit late for the Wild Hunt? And, y'know, the wrong continent?"

Gwyn mirrored Gabriel's smile, mocking, "You're right! It is the wrong time and the wrong place. And all because of you angels."

Gabriel's smile faltered. He was confused, and so was Sam. Sam side-glanced towards Dean. Dean returned the look. He hadn't a clue what Gwyn meant, either, but it probably wasn't anything good. Elysian Fields not good.

"Your lot fell to Earth. Don't think we other gods haven't noticed. And we've also noticed that souls are gathering in the Veil. They're _trapped_ in the Veil. Because _Heaven_ has stopped functioning as it should."

Gwyn's features turned down into a fierce scowl as he angrily pulled back on his horse's reins. The horse snorted again and took a few steps back from the hound near its feet. Gwyn was glaring at Gabriel now.

"Your kind's followers swept across our lands like a plague, promising salvation through your _God_, through your version of Paradise. I was treated as a _demon_ by an ignorant, _rude_ priest! I was thought banished from my own lands and people!" Gwyn reined in his anger as easily as he commanded his steed, "And after all of that, what was it all for? Look how you've failed your human 'flock.'"

Gabriel was glaring down at the ground near his feet, jaw and fists clenched. He'd probably have lashed out, if he wasn't trying to keep whatever Grace he had left.

"It wasn't his fault," Sam spoke up, not phased by the cool gaze that was focused on him by Gwyn. "He wasn't the angel that flipped the switch that broke Heaven. If you came here to punish him for that, you're wasting your time."

Gwyn tilted his head back and considered Sam. Whether he was considering Sam's _words _or not was a completely different matter.

"I didn't come here to punish him," Gwyn announced. "I came to collect my hound. One of many who've been going around escorting souls to Annwn - those that will come, that is - since reapers are not allowed _to do their job_. Contrary to what some believe, I actually _care_ what happens to those unfortunate enough to be lost."

"Hate to tell ya this, Gwyn," Dean interjected, "but, uh, your hound was here hunting down a hellhound, instead of ferrying the dead. Or whatever they hell they're supposed to do."

"Ah," Gwyn replied, a remarkably human expression.

He turned his attention down to the Cŵn Annwn. She pulled her ears back and hunched over, wagging her tail in submission.

"And I suppose the two traveling with you are Hunters, _Gabriel_?"

Gwyn lifted his eyes to stare hard at Gabriel. Gabriel returned the stare, head slightly bowed. His expression reminded Sam of the one he'd given them, way back when, as Dean had torn into him about not standing up to his family.

It'd been a low blow, Sam knew now. Gabriel'd had damn good reason not to want to stand up to Lucifer, or Michael. And he got the feeling that, now, Gabriel might not deserve the full blame Gwyn was throwing at him. At least, Gabriel didn't feel he did.

An uncomfortable silence passed between them. One that lasted long enough for Sam to look uncertainly at Dean, and Dean glanced back to indicate that he had no clue what was going on, but he was picking up on _something_. Sam was starting to, too.

"You _lied_ to me, Gabriel," Gwyn accused.

Gabriel glared at that, "I lied about my name. Nothing else."

"No, you lied about _who you were_. I let you into my court, no matter how briefly, and you repaid me that privilege by _lying_ to me. Do you have any idea what I thought when the news of who Loki truly was reached me?"

"Oh, I don't know, Gwyn," Gabriel snapped, finally lifting his head to challenge the other. "Same thing Kali thought? Just a traitor? A spy? That nothing I ever did held any weight? I told you the only thing I lied about was my name. I meant it."

Gabriel was simmering, fists clenched again. Sam watched him carefully. From his experience? Gabriel didn't get that riled up unless someone was getting too close to his true feelings. Gwyn, the Lord of Annwn, had _wounded_ Gabriel with his accusation.

Sam was trying really hard not to solidify his theory about their relationship. The smirk Dean was attempting to hide made Sam think that his brother hadn't tried very hard at all.

Gwyn watched Gabriel, just as Sam did. Then, for the first time since he'd appeared, he relaxed atop his steed. Sam hadn't even noticed he'd been that tense, but the shift in demeanor when he released said tension was almost shocking.

He looked a lot less regal, all of a sudden. Just a normal dude in a ridiculously old-fashioned, medieval outfit who just happened to be a faerie. Or a god. God of faeries?

"Don't do it again," he warned Gabriel, but with a lot less bite than before. "I understand what it's like to lose a home. If you have need of it, Annwn is still open to you. But I will receive you as a stranger...and not as old friends."

He finally acknowledged Sam and Dean again, "And you two will stay out of my backyard. I have the same amount of patience for those who hunt the Fair Folk for their bones as I did that damn priest who tried to vanquish me with Holy Water."

With that said, Gwyn took his reins and guided the horse around. It whinnied as he kicked his heels into its side. The shrill whistle he gave sounded exactly like the call signal Gabriel had given the Cŵn Annwn before, and the spectral hound - though it looked nothing like one - barked and chased after its master.

Sam cringed, bringing his arm up to his eyes again, as the pair disappeared in another flash of light. When they were gone, Sam jumped at the sound of cars on the road. He frowned at the sight. They hadn't been there before. In fact, no cars had passed down Main Street the entire time they'd been talking with Gwyn ap Nudd.

"What?" He questioned, eyes darting along the road.

"Side pocket of reality," Gabriel muttered, lifeless.

Sam frowned at him in sympathy. The Archangel's eyes were as hollow as his voice. He'd probably just lost another 'friend' because of what he was, rather than who. Gwyn hadn't seemed _too _upset, though. Not when he'd left. He'd offered sanctuary to Gabriel, if he ever needed it. Guess that wasn't too bad, considering what Sam had seen Gabriel's _other_ friends do to him once before.

But, that optimism wasn't something Gabriel felt. Not now, and hardly ever.

"I'm sure you'll patch things up," he sincerely tried to encourage.

Gabriel huffed through his nose, glancing quickly out of the corner of his eye at Sam and then back towards the road, and then he tried to smile in acknowledgement. It didn't really work.

"Yeah, Gabe!" Dean began merrily. "It wasn't _really_ a break- Oof!"

Dean glared at Sam, rubbing his stomach, as Sam glared back, retracting his elbow. He mouthed at Dean to knock it off. Dean retaliated by sticking out his tongue.

Gabriel didn't reply. He didn't respond to Dean's jab, or Sam's. He merely turned and began to walk away with his head down.

Sam pointed a warning finger at Dean and then followed the Archangel. Dean followed him.

The walk back to the Impala was silent. Dean probably didn't care about how Gabriel was feeling, but Sam did. He gave the Archangel his space. He worried for him.

It was going to be a _long_ ride back home.

* * *

**A/N: Few clarifications: Cŵn Annwn is pronounced similar to 'Coon a-noon.' Gwyn ap Nudd I have seen to be pronounced 'Gwin ap Neeth.' I tried my damnedest to research these figures as best I could, but if mistakes were made, I deeply apologize. I highly suggest looking into them if you are not knowledgeable about Welsh mythology; they're pretty cool.**

**The Wild Hunt occurs in many religious beliefs around Europe, which is why I allowed Gabriel to take part in it, alluding to Gabriel's Hounds. I also distinguished the Cŵn Annwn from hellhounds - though they're often lumped together as the same thing - because fuck things having nothing to do with Christian religion being made to do with Christian religion.**

**I left Gwyn's description vague and refused to type out his accent for a reason. That reason? Interpretation. Also, it's not that great trying to read an accent for some. I might shorten and drawl some of what Dean and Gabe say, but that's pretty simple stuff.**

**Yes, I'm alluding to Gabriel and Gwyn as having a little somethin'-somethin' having taken place between them. Ask and ye shall receive details and explanations. I ain't writin' it here. Too long. It serves the plot in its own way, though.**

**The priest Gwyn keeps referencing is St. Collen. Long story short: He walked into Gwyn's abode while the faeries were having fun, went, "Fuck you for offering me a place at your table to eat, vile creature," and threw holy water at him. To which Gwyn poofed, along with his court. Christians celebrated. Gwyn was probably like, "Rude. Well, fuck you, then."**

**Anymore questions? Please direct them to the review box and send 'em on. Any praise? Do the same. Hint hint.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I'd like to thank y'all still reading who completely understand why the hell I didn't reappear for about three months.

Song worth mention: "Wide Awake" by Katy Perry.

* * *

Sam jumped as a book slammed onto the table next to him. He looked up from the book he was reading to see Gabriel'd been the culprit for the jump scare. He frowned at him in disapproval as the Archangel pulled out the chair next to him and plopped down into it.

"Was that really necessary?" Sam muttered, turning back to his book.

He couldn't read it, though. Not really. Words were on the page, and if he concentrated hard enough he could understand what they were trying to tell him, but he wasn't actually _reading_ them. He scowled down at the infernal object. Why was this so hard?

"You're dreaming," Gabriel enlightened.

Sam sighed and leant back in his chair. He shut his book with an air of defeat. No point in reading the thing if it wasn't real. Especially when he _couldn't_ read it.

"Thought you said you wouldn't go poking into my head uninvited?" Sam pointed out, though he wasn't particularly miffed by the intrusion.

Honestly, he was kind of grateful for it. Gabriel had been unusually quiet the whole time they'd traveled back from Pennsylvania. Even at the motel room they'd stop at in Ohio - same motel! - he'd been abnormally lifeless. Less _Gabriel_ and more an empty husk that was content to watch whatever television had to offer, not once blinking to change the channels as he used to. Sometimes, he'd just watch the wall.

It was eerie, the way he behaved now, and Sam didn't like it. He understood it, or so he thought. Gabriel was upset at some things Gwyn had said to him. He was probably more upset by being reminded about what Kali had said to him. He'd been taken for a traitor, spy, etc. He'd been discarded easily because of it. From everyone, really. Knowing that's what others thought of him, others that he'd cared about, had to suck.

But he wasn't talking about it. He was ruminating over it. No, he was lamenting. He was retreating into himself, bringing up the walls. As such, Sam was left on the outside, alone, and fighting with himself over whether he should try knocking or not.

It'd been days since they'd gotten back to the Bunker, and Gabriel seemed to be stagnating. If he continued to behave as he had, wallowing in his inner turmoil, he'd only get _worse_.

Sam knew. He'd put himself through the same self-imposed punishment, after all. It helped when people reached out to him, even if he still kinda felt like crap. But what was the appropriate amount of time to let Gabriel grieve a lost friendship? Or relationship. Whatever Gwyn and he'd been.

Gabriel barging into his head at least gave him an excuse to address the subject _without_ having to knock on Gabriel's door. It was a small price to pay if it meant getting the Archangel back to his normal, energetic self. He wasn't even fighting back against Dean's teasing.

"I'm not in your head, Sam," Gabriel replied with that annoying twinkle in his eyes that meant he knew something Sam didn't. He leaned back in his chair, propping it on two legs, as he continued, "I'm more _beside_ your head. Kinda...pullin' your subconscious, dreaming self far enough out of ya that I don't have to go stumblin' around somewhere I got no business bein'."

Sam nodded, raising his eyebrows in mock consideration.

"So, you found a loophole in our agreement?" He stated.

Gabriel shrugged, "How else do you suppose I drag ya into class?"

Sam frowned at his question. It didn't take him long to figure out what Gabriel was alluding to. It'd been nearly a week since the last time Gabriel had considered teaching him how to use his powers, at Castiel's suggestion. More like at Castiel's demand, really.

Sam shook his head and shifted in his seat, dispelling thoughts about how aforementioned last time had gone down. Now wasn't exactly the best moment to think about heated make-out sessions with Gabriel. Firstly, because Gabriel most assuredly was not in the mood. Secondly, because Sam really did need to practice using his abilities before they got stronger and royally screwed something up.

"You needed to half-drag me out of my own head to teach me?" Sam questioned, not entirely worried about whatever zany thing Gabriel had done to do that.

"Had to? No," Gabriel replied, beginning to rock. "Here, though? Neutral ground. Same as it was back in the motel room. I control most of this space. I'm allowing you to influence it, but only so much. Basically, what I'm sayin' is: You have free-reign to interact with anything, to conjure anything, but the moment something dastardly tries to _squeeze_ out of that imaginative noggin o' yours? It's gettin' stamped with a big ol' 'Void.'"

"So I don't summon something like a monster or Lucifer."

"So you don't summon something like a monster or Lucifer." Gabriel frowned a little, "Especially Lucifer. I don't think that'd end well for either of us. Not with what I want you to do."

Sam frowned, suspicious. "What do you want me to do?"

Gabriel nodded towards the book he'd thrown onto the table moments before. Sam glanced at it. He couldn't make out a title on the front, and the spine wasn't facing him. He had no idea what it was about, or why Gabriel had felt the need to scare the crap out of him with it.

Okay, so, that last part he might have a little of an idea about. This was Gabriel, after all. Even when in a shitty mood, he wasn't against using cheap jokes for his own amusement. Regardless of whether he stayed amused for long or not.

Sam looked back to Gabriel, frown still on his face. He wasn't going to ask the Archangel just what in the hell he was trying to wordlessly communicate. He didn't need to. Gabriel was cheekily trying to reel him in with the suspense.

Gabriel smirked at him, and Sam was absurdly pleased to see a little bit of Gabriel's mischievousness poking through his longstanding melancholy.

"You're going to conjure it," he stated. Motioning with his fingers, he added, "Out there."

Sam scoffed lightly, "Okay. Sure. And how do I pull that off, Master Yoda?"

Gabriel's smirk was replaced by an annoyed frown.

"Had to go for the short joke, didn't ya?"

"That...wasn't meant to be a short joke. Forget that. Seriously: How am I supposed to pull that off?"

"C'mon, Sam!" Gabriel teased lightly, back to smirking. "You drenched me in freezing cold water without any guidance. This should be easy!"

"Except, I did that under emotional distress. Which, if I know anything about psychic powers, and I do, means that I wasn't in complete control of myself. I was winging it. There's no way I'm going to be able to recreate that mistake."

Gabriel let his chair fall forward, legs slamming into the ground of the imaginary Bunker with a loud thud. He turned in his seat to stare intently at Sam, and Sam realized that the Archangel was now going to treat this lesson of his seriously. For that, Sam was relieved.

"That wasn't a mistake, Sam," Gabriel replied. "You did exactly what you were aiming to do: Ya dumped water on me. Now, you're gonna have to want this book to be somewhere it's not. And, you're right, it's gonna take a lot more concentration than before. Adrenaline's not on your side this time, and neither is my Grace. I've hidden that from those pesky lil' mental fingers o' yours.

"_You_ have to do this, Sam. On your own and under control. Or you're never gonna master your abilities."

Sam nodded in understanding, a contemplative frown on his face. He didn't necessarily want to _master_ his abilities, but Gabriel was right. He needed to be able to do things without training wheels at some point. Might as well start now.

His frown turned unsure.

"Wait, are you leaving?" He questioned.

Gabriel said Sam needed to do this on his own. He wasn't planning on bolting after a few instructions, was he? That'd be taking the training wheels away a little_ too_ fast, Sam thought.

"Not this time," Gabriel answered as he shook his head once. "Not until I see you masterin' the basics. And I don't expect that to be after one night. Even_ young Skywalker_ couldn't pull that off."

Sam wasn't going to point out that being called that reminded him a little too much of the taunting words Lucifer had given him once. Gabriel probably didn't know that, and Sam _had_ started it with the Yoda comment. He huffed away the slight unease and turned his attention back to the book.

"Alright," he began, "how do I do this? Other than concentrating really, really hard. I know that part. I just...don't get how I can yank this thing out without a target...area, or whatever."

"Make one."

Sam looked at him blankly.

Gabriel appeared to be enjoying himself, in that annoying cat-with-mouse sort of way. He refused to give Sam anymore hints than that. Instead, he leaned back, still sideways in his chair, and stared challengingly at Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes and then focused on the task at hand.

Right, so he had to somehow will this book into existence out in the real world. The obvious way to go about that, he thought, would be to accurately memorize all the little details of it. What it looked like, what it felt like. Could he get away with leaving the pages blank? He was in a dream, after all. He couldn't truly _read_ what was in it. His mind would just make up something and give him the illusion of reading. Illusions weren't accurate, and how could he memorize, word for word, what was on every page?

Yeah, he'd just leave the pages blank. He knew what those looked like.

Sam reached over, easily sliding the book from the middle of the table in front of Gabriel to rest in front of himself.

The cover was a dark navy color. Rough, as expected from older hardcover books. No title was on it, though there were golden accents along the spine. Simple bars of gold, but something he needed to note if he was to copy this thing into reality. He even weighted the book. What he didn't do was flip through it. He didn't need the distraction his brain would make by chiding him over not getting every little detail correct.

When satisfied that he had all the information on the book that he needed, Sam put it back down onto the table.

He stared at it.

He stared at it for quite some time. And, during this time, his mind started to wander. It hadn't taken long for him to stop running the facts of the book through his head and, instead, start thinking about how Gabriel was right beside him. Still staring at him. Not moving. It was kind of unsettling. How long was he gonna do that?

Then came the probing questions he could ask Gabriel. How was he doing? Was his sudden, Trickster-esque inspired mood a façade, or was he actually feeling better? Did he want to discuss where their relationship stood now, later, or just ignore it until the end of time? Sam wouldn't be able to, but Gabriel was good at hiding from things, including his own feelings. It was a character trait he'd thought only one Dean Winchester could manage effectively. He'd been wrong.

Book. Focus on the book. Try to push the book into reality. The library. That was his 'destination' for the objects. Books belonged in libraries, it only made sense. Dark navy. Gold. Rough. Medium weight for a book. Focus on those thoughts, those thoughts alone, until forever and eternity.

"How do I know when this works?" He asked, looking at Gabriel.

Gabriel had shifted, Sam was surprised to discover. He hadn't felt or seen the Archangel move, but Gabriel _had_ moved. He had his elbow on the table, devious glint still in his eye, as he propped his head up with his fingers.

"You'll know," he purred.

Sam placed his face into his hands.

"You are a shitty teacher."

"Religion would disagree with you."

"Religion would disagree with a lot of the things you do," Sam snapped. "Do you seriously want me to sit here and stare at this book until I _just know_ when to stop? How long is that supposed to be!"

Gabriel smiled and teased, "Patience -"

"I swear to God, if you make another _Star Wars _joke," Sam warned, pointing at him with a scowl.

"Hey, you started it," Gabriel shrugged.

"I'm finishing it!" He seethed. "_Help. Me._"

Gabriel sighed long and hard, drooping a little, as if the very command was such a colossal burden for him.

Sam was honestly starting to wonder why he preferred this Gabriel over the one that'd been haunting the Bunker the past few days. Sometimes, he legitimately didn't know whether he wanted to kiss him or kill him.

Well, maybe not _kill_. Strangle him for a few seconds, probably. Shake him for good measure.

"Fine," Gabriel drawled. "Y'know, you're not gonna have me around to hold your hand - "

The Archangel trailed off as he stared down at his right hand, which had suddenly been ensnared by Sam's left. He pursed his lips and then glanced up at Sam with an expression that was somehow both disapproving and amused.

Sam twitched his brows at him, daring him to retaliate.

"Okay," Gabriel stated, ignoring the bait. "Ya need to clear your mind of everything. Everything but that lil' book. You're a brainy guy, Sam. You think too much. Stop focusing on inconsequential things. It doesn't matter when you conjure the book. There's no time limit. There's only your mind telling you there is one."

"That's easier said than done," Sam mumbled, refusing to remove his hand from Gabe's.

"Yes, it is," Gabriel agreed. "It's why I told ya you weren't gettin' this first go. Your power level's not what's holdin' you back."

Sam sighed through his nose, eyes trailing down from Gabriel's face to stare at their hands. Gabriel's was so much smaller than his. He'd known that already, of course, but it was kind of funny to see the comparison. After all, only in his Vessel was Gabriel smaller than Sam.

He frowned.

"Whatever happened to your Vessel?" Sam questioned.

Gabriel frowned, tilting his head in confusion, "Odd change in topic there, Sam."

Sam shrugged, "You said I gotta clear my mind of distractions, right? Answer my questions and they'll get off my mind."

Gabriel watched Sam, suspicious, and Sam watched him in return with a falsely innocent smile on his face. Gabriel sighed in resignation.

"I don't have one," Gabriel replied. At Sam's frown, he continued, "'noying little human clawing at the back of my mind because I took over their body? Yeah. Ain't got one. Never did."

He gestured to himself with his free hand, "Made this myself. Well! More like I made the _first_ one myself. And then I died a horrible, painful death. Came back in Vessel two-point-oh with more human meat than I started out with."

Sam was silent a moment, "_More_ human meat?"

"I was on the run, and my brothers knew the bloodline meant to contain me." Gabriel explained, oddly earnest. "It woulda been a really foolish thing to take a human Vessel. Both me and the human woulda been fucked. So, I cheated."

"You cheated..."

"Found a dead relative's body, did some hocus pocus, slipped into the vacant, not-so-dead body."

"You can do that?" Sam asked, stunned. "If... If angels can possess corpses, why don't they just -"

Gabriel held up his hand and shook a finger at him.

"It's not that simple. It takes a lot of energy and technique to do what I did, and no angel's gonna do things the hard way when they can get a, 'Yes.' They're_ not supposed to_. I found a loophole and I used it. I'm good at that, in case ya hadn't noticed.

"Now, anymore questions, or are you gonna get this ball rollin'? Kinda wastin' the night away here."

As a matter of fact, he did have more questions. The ones that had run through his mind for days. The problem was that he knew, as soon as he asked them, Gabriel was going to withdraw. And he was afraid of that. He didn't want that. But, if he didn't ask them, he really would constantly wonder. So, it was either risk Gabriel acting cold towards him and get somewhere with his powers, or continue to let Gabriel mope without improving anything.

He went with the more productive option, hyperaware of the warmth of Gabriel's hand in his.

"Wanna talk about Gwyn?" He pried gently.

The content expression Gabriel had worn disappeared. His face became guarded as he leant away from Sam and looked away, staring blankly at a bookshelf on the wall.

"Caught onto that didja?"

"Hard to miss."

"Why ya askin'?" He turned a mirthless look towards Sam, "Jealous?"

"Worried."

"Why?"

"You know why," Sam replied, ignoring Gabriel's flippant tone. "Just like I know why you're moping."

Gabriel scoffed and tried to remove his hand from Sam's.

Sam wouldn't let go. He laced his long fingers in-between Gabriel's and squeezed. He smiled tauntingly as Gabriel futilely tried to twist his hand out of Sam's.

It was a game they were playing. Gabriel could wrench his hand out of Sam's easily. He could flee, if he wanted, leaving Sam to stew and stare at a nondescript novel until he somehow magicked it into existence. Yet, there he sat, testing Sam's resolve with an increasingly frustrated scowl on his face.

Soon, Gabriel stopped his struggling.

Sam had proved his point.

Gabriel placed his left elbow on the table with a loud thud, his chin on his palm, as he huffed through his nose in indignation. He pouted angrily at the bookshelf.

"I'm not _moping_," he complained, head bouncing as he spoke.

"No," Sam teased lightly, "you're just roaming the Bunker like a very depressed ghost."

"Winchester not hunting down a ghost? What's the world comin' to?" Gabriel mocked, cutting his eyes to Sam.

Sam shrugged, "Thought about it. But then I figured the ghost'd just run away."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Sam's comment, a small frown on his face. He'd caught what Sam was inferring, as Sam knew he would.

Sam gave him a polite smile.

"You don't have to run from me," he told him. "You can, of course. I won't stop you. I understand needing space. But... I'm not them. Kali, Lucifer, Gwyn, whoever the hell else.

"I _know_ you. Well, I'm trying to, anyway. And, for the most part, you've been pretty upfront on where you stand. So... I guess what I'm trying to say is: You have someone to lean on, and you don't have to worry about me dropping you because I don't know who I'm holdin'."

Sam frowned at his choice of words, replaying them in his head. He wasn't sure if they had made as much sense spoken as when he'd thought them. But, he gave Gabriel an earnest look all the same, trying to impart the meaning behind the fuddled mess.

Gabriel stared him down, picking his face apart with his roaming gaze. Eventually, he huffed gently, a bit of mirth pulling at his lips.

"Coulda worded that better, Sam," he teased quietly.

"You understood it."

Gabriel twitched his head in acknowledgement. His eyes drifted down from Sam's, unfocused as he became lost in his thoughts. He was doing that a lot lately.

Sam observed him for a moment. In the end, his desire to do something won out over the faint caution he'd been clinging to. He moved forward to press a lingering, chaste kiss to Gabriel's lips.

Gabriel allowed the action, remaining mostly still, except to tilt his head to accept the kiss. He reciprocated, just as gentle. When Sam pulled away, Gabriel watched him. He still had that vulnerable look about him, but a genuine, small smile threatened to bloom across his face.

He poked at table with his free hand and nodded towards the book.

"Conjure it."

Sam smiled at Gabriel's easy dodging of the intimate display he'd given him. Sam wasn't fooled, though, and he certainly wasn't deterred. Yet, he did what he was told.

Or tried to, anyway. His wandering thoughts _had_ quieted, honing in on the task he was meant to perform, but he still didn't feel whatever it was he was supposed to whenever he'd successfully manifest the book in reality. Unlike before, however, he kept Gabriel's advice in mind. He wouldn't let himself get distracted and discouraged. He just concentrated harder. He tried to come up with new ways to think, ways to trick his mind.

He kept at it all night, Gabriel still beside him like a silent sentinel.

They never let go of each other's hands.

* * *

Sam woke up with his face buried in his pillow. He rooted his face into it and groaned in aggravation. For once, he didn't want to be awake. He wanted to go back to sleep. Because he hadn't summoned that damn book into their library, and he knew it.

The scrape of a page being turned alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone in his room. Instantly, the small hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms rose at the threat of danger. However, he didn't move. He didn't reach for the pistol under his pillow. He listened. Another scrape sounded, and Sam relaxed.

Looking over his shoulder, he confirmed his suspicions.

Gabriel was sitting in the chair near the door. The same one he had sat in the first night he'd stayed in the Bunker. The book he was holding looked suspiciously like the one he'd commanded Sam to conjure, and Sam frowned grumpily at the sight of it.

"Why're you in my room?" Sam questioned, voice gruff from sleep.

"Proximity," Gabriel replied easily.

He shut his book with a loud thump, let it rest against the arm of the chair, and then tilted his head to look over at Sam.

"It's easier to keep my little mental mirage runnin' smoothly if I keep you in my sights. Anyhoo! Rise and shine. Your brother's in the kitchen, and I smell pancakes."

Gabriel rose from his chair, book in hand.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair and pushed himself up to sit. He turned to stare, mouth slightly open, at Gabriel's smiling face. He shook his head.

"What is it with you and pancakes? Don't you ever get tired of them? I mean, you ate like a hundred in a row that one time."

Gabriel smirked, "You're cute when your just waking up. D'ya ever get tired of eating salads?"

Sam nodded once at Gabriel's teasing tone, eyes glancing down to his sheets. Okay, so, Gabriel had a point there. Sorta.

"I don't always eat salads!" He complained to Gabriel's back as Gabriel walked out of the room, most likely headed for the kitchen.

Sam huffed and rubbed at his face. He felt sluggish. If he had to guess, Sam suspected it was because of the mental workout he'd gone through while asleep. Even if he hadn't managed to create something from nothing, simply the mere brain power it took to try and attempt that sapped a lot out of him. Go figure.

He wasn't looking forward to however many days it was going to take him to master the art. Or weeks. God, hopefully not months. As nice as it was to have Gabriel chilling in his headspace while he stared, near unblinkingly, at a little, blue book... Sam'd wind up torching said book, with that long of a wait.

Sam pushed himself off his bed and went about getting ready. It took him roughly half an hour to gather his things, shower, shave, and get dressed. He went to the library, first, as that was where they always gathered whenever in the Bunker. It was the closest thing they had to a living room, really.

Both Gabriel and Dean were there. Dean was on Sam's laptop, and, by the way his brow was furrowed, Sam could tell he was researching something. Gabriel sat across from him and one seat down, staring at Dean with that hint of mischief he always had when planning something. Dean's eyes flicked from the screen to glare at Gabriel. Gabriel's expression didn't change.

Sam smiled nervously at the two of them.

"Did I miss something?" He teased.

"No," Dean replied, clearly aggravated.

"Uh-huh. Because that sounded convincing."

Dean turned his glare away from Gabriel and nodded at Sam.

"Just looking for a case. And your _buddy_ here is being anything but helpful."

Gabriel stuck his tongue out at Dean but refused to comment further.

Sam merely nodded at them. He pulled the chair out that was beside Dean and sat in it, peering over to see the laptop screen. It seemed that his brother wasn't looking up anything in particular, merely checking potential obituaries. Either he hadn't been at his task long, or he was having difficulty locating something. Given their history with the supernatural, Sam doubted the latter scenario. Something was _always_ up.

"Find anything?" He questioned anyway.

Dean frowned and went back to scrolling down the search engine's list of results.

"Nothing yet. If _Gabriel_ would help, I might could speed the process along."

"Now, why would I do that? Last time you took me on one o' your crusades, you kept tryin' to fridge me. I'm not exactly keen on it happening again. I can only hear, 'Don't fuck it up,' so many times before I feel inclined to fuck _you_ up."

Gabriel smiled ruefully at Dean. Dean's jaw clenched in rising anger. Sam looked between the two of them.

"Is there any chance you two can _not_ be at each other's throats twenty-four seven?"

"When he pulls his head out of his ass," Gabriel smirked.

"When he starts being _useful_," Dean seethed in return.

Sam sighed loudly, rolling his head back in frustration. Yet, he wasn't going to give up. The two of them _had_ made progress, even if Dean and Gabriel refused to admit it. They still had a long way to go, but still. Hope remained that the three of them could sit in a room together for extended periods of time _without_ Sam having to play the referee. He just had to get them to that point. Because Dean and Gabriel sure as hell weren't going to do it themselves.

Leaning forward, he informed Dean, "Technically, he _is_ being useful. He's helping me figure out how to control my powers that _aren't_ going to go away, and he's volunteered to help you remove the Mark of Cain. That's kinda a big deal, Dean. So, maybe you shouldn't try to pick a fight with him _all the time_. I mean, I can't imagine that's good for the Mark, either. Doesn't it feed on violence?"

Dean frowned as he fidgeted under Sam's scrutiny. He sighed and stared grumpily at the laptop as he thought it over. Gabriel shrugged, a lazy roll of his shoulders.

"He has a point, Dean-o. Constantly getting pissed at me's only gonna exacerbate your problems. I'm willin' to lay off the inflammatory remarks if you are. But, sorry, bub. No hot girls for this truce. Just your soul's integrity."

Dean gave Gabriel a scathing look. Gabriel didn't flinch. Sam waited with baited breath as he hoped that Dean would grab the olive branch that was vigorously waving in front of his face. For the sake of his peace of mind, he hoped Dean would grab that damn olive branch.

"Fine!" Dean eventually growled. "But if he starts somethin', I'm gonna finish it!"

Sam let out the breath he'd been holding. One small step for man.

"And what do you mean he's been helping you control your powers?" Dean glanced sharply at Gabriel, "You been mindmelding with my brother again? I thought I told you two to cut that out."

One giant face-plant into the ground for mankind.

"Dean," Sam whined.

"Oh, stand down, wouldja?" Gabriel replied, "It was Castiel's idea. And, as much as it pains me to admit, it's a _good_ idea. What d'ya want to happen next time? An Olympic swimming pool dropped on ya? How 'bout a raging inferno while he snoozes in the passenger seat of your precious car?"

Sam frowned, not too pleased about his _one_ mishap being blown out of proportion to prove a point. But, well, it proved a point. One he'd acknowledged when he'd taken Castiel's advice about asking Gabriel to teach him.

Dean was silent a beat before he asked, "You think you can prevent that?"

"I know I can show him how to prevent it himself. And I know he's got the will not to lose control. Not this time."

Sam's frown deepened. What was Gabriel inferring? Sam had a few ideas. Scratch that, he had a lot of ideas. He just hadn't thought Gabriel would hold any of them over his head. Not _now_.

Sam fidgeted with his hands, eyes downcast.

Dean eventually nodded his understanding, giving a silent message to Gabriel that he'd put a smidgen of trust in the Archangel in regards to whatever it was he was doing with Sam. He then turned to resume his search for a case.

Sans a few mishaps that had 'angels' written all over them, they didn't find any. And they were hesitant to engage anything with angelic signature. Especially Gabriel. After all, he didn't have a death wish, and they had no way of knowing which angels were on whose side.

Dean phoned Castiel to alert him to the possible cases. Cas said he'd have his growing flock look into it. The rest of the day was spent clambering for a way to pass time. Miraculously, Dean and Gabriel managed to behave civilly. Gabriel's mood seemed to be improving, too.

Too bad Sam's had soured, running that _one_ comment of Gabriel's over and over in his head.

Around midday, Dean ambushed Sam after he'd left the bathroom.

Sam startled, and then quickly composed himself to scowl at his brother.

Dean didn't seem too upset that he'd nearly caused Sam to jump clear out of his skin. Instead, he wore a similar scowl. One that Sam was pretty sure he knew the cause of.

"Ya wanna enlighten me about your little 'training sessions' with Gabriel?" Dean demanded.

Sam would've been pissed had he not caught the underlying fretful nature of Dean's question. Dean was just worried, and Sam understood that. So, instead of telling Dean to mind his own business, Sam sighed and answered.

"He's trying to get me to create a book from my dreams. And, before you say anything, it's not to make my powers grow _stronger_, it's just to make sure I know how to _not_ create something _accidentally_. I need to learn how to control it, just like he said."

Dean's jaw worked as he picked apart Sam's explanation. Soon, he visibly relaxed.

"How's that work?" He questioned, genuine interest in his voice.

Sam shrugged helplessly.

"To be honest, I don't know. I don't think I'm ever really gonna know, y'know? It's just something you _do_. Like... How does _any_ psychic do what they do? Sure, there's some _specific_ way it works, but. It's more instinct than anything. Trial and error. Just...more trial than error, this time. Gabriel's making sure I don't conjure up something dangerous."

Dean nodded, a contemplative frown on his face. Maybe, with as often as Sam and Gabriel were trying to reassure him that nothing _bad_ was going to happen with their little experiments, Dean was actually starting to calm down about the situation. Trying to get Dean to tolerate anything remotely weird was like pulling eye teeth.

"How's the Mark?" Sam prompted.

Dean's eyes met his before quickly darting away. He shrugged dismissively.

"_There_," Dean replied. "I'm not... Other than a constant hum of aggravation, it ain't that bad. It's more annoying than anything. I've had worse."

His gaze turned back towards Sam, "How long's Gabriel gonna stick around?"

"I dunno. Why?"

"Because he's helping you figure out how to be a regular Harry Potter, and he said he'd help me remove _this_ damn thing," he stressed, raising his arm to reference the Mark. "I don't want him runnin' off before he does either of those things. Angels have a bad habit of taking off, Sam. With or without wings."

Sam nodded. Dean had a point. Castiel often had other commitments he had to attend to. Like he was doing now. So, he got why his brother would think Gabriel might ditch them.

But Sam didn't share his brother's train of thought. Gabriel had too many things tying him down. Sam just wasn't sure _he_ was one of them, and he wasn't entirely sure if that bothered him or not.

* * *

He wasn't surprised to find himself back in the mock library of Gabriel's creation. The blue novel was in the same spot they'd left it the night before. His eyes quickly spotted Gabriel. Not that it was a hard thing to do, considering Gabriel was across from him, though a table over. Sam frowned at the seating. He wasn't sure why Gabriel was keeping his distance, but it didn't really matter.

He looked down at the book, contemplated beginning his little lesson for the night, but instead decided to address what was bothering _him_.

"What did you mean," he began, "when you told Dean that I wouldn't lose control like I did last time?"

Gabriel sighed, not even looking at Sam, and tilted his head back. He let the back of his skull rest on the chair as he stared up at the ceiling for a long few seconds. He seemed tired, not annoyed or dismissive.

"You know what I meant, Sam," Gabriel replied evenly. He turned his head to look at him. "Once upon a time, I tried to tell you - _show_ you - what you could become if you let your emotions get the best of you. _Aaand_, we've both explained how royally I fucked up that lesson. But..."

Gabriel trailed off and glanced at the table in front of him. He was thinking of how to word what he wanted to say, so the he didn't offend Sam or hurt his feelings. While Sam appreciated the gesture, it still kind of pissed him off. Because he thought he already knew what Gabriel _wanted_ to say.

"When you need help, Sam, you seek it," Gabriel spoke again, surprising him with the nonjudgmental tone he was using. "And you don't always choose the right people to help ya."

He held up a finger, "Neither does Dean-o, though he might swear otherwise. I mean, pfft, look what's on his arm."

"You going somewhere with this?" Sam interrupted.

"Yeah. To Dean," Gabriel held his arms out, "I'm Ruby two-point-oh. Right down to gettin' in your pants."

Sam's brow furrowed at such a blunt statement. He fidgeted awkwardly in his seat and looked away from Gabriel. Okay, so, yeah... Sam had a habit of sleeping with...people Dean didn't approve of. So? Gabriel had nothing to gain from any sort of relationship with Sam. Dean had no right to be worried about what went down between him and Gabriel.

"Yeah, but you're - "

"_I_ know. _You _know. _Dean_ doesn't." Gabriel shrugged his shoulders, teasing air dissipating to be replaced with something more somber. "I meant what I said, Sam: You won't lose control of yourself again. Not like Dean thinks you will. You've learned your lesson, kiddo, and ya did it all on your own."

The corner of Gabriel's lip twitched as he finished, "I'm still learning mine."

In the time it took Sam to blink, Gabriel was gone.

Sam opened and shut his mouth repeatedly, confused, and stared at the now-empty chair the Archangel had been sitting in. Well, he had said he'd leave Sam to his own devices _eventually_. No, he'd said he'd leave when Sam had _mastered the basics_. Meaning, either Sam had done that the night before, or...he'd upset Gabriel. Again.

Though, considering his final words, it was possible Gabriel had upset _himself._ Sam wasn't the only one prone to introspection these days.

Whatever the case, at least, now, he knew what Gabriel had meant, and it wasn't as condescending as Sam was used to hearing his mistakes be referred to with. At least he knew Gabriel wasn't _blaming_ him anymore.

Sam's shoulders relaxed. Mind more at ease, he began practicing his powers, stubbornly willing the book to manifest in the real Men of Letters' library.

* * *

Two weeks. It took two weeks for Sam to finally pull the book from his mind and into reality. As Gabriel had said he would, he felt it when it worked. Sort of. He'd been staring at the book, eyes unfocused and mind nearly blank except for the occasional thought of, 'Just go to the library already,' when he'd felt a small _snap_. It was enough for him to jerk upright and blink his eyes into focus. Looking down at the table, he noticed the book was missing. The sharp inhale he gave and the rush of adrenaline that followed was enough to wake him up.

Once awake, he flailed out of his covers, dashed out of his room, and sprinted towards the library like a kid at Christmas. He rounded the corner nearly too fast, reaching for the wall to steady himself but he was too far passed it. Luckily, he didn't need it. He skid to a stop.

Gabriel was sitting cross-legged on the same table that Sam had been sitting at in his dream, and his hands was a dark navy book. One he was flipping through with a slight frown on his face.

Sam, so thrilled to think _that_ was the book he'd spent so long trying to conjure, sped towards Gabriel so fast that the Archangel had just enough time to look up and yelp before Sam yanked the book away from him. The inside was blank. Just as he'd made it. He grinned and looked from the book to Gabriel. Gabriel folded his arms and pouted.

"You cheated," he accused.

Sam scoffed light-heartedly, "So? You told me to conjure the book. You didn't tell me to conjure what was _in_ it.."

Gabriel raised a brow, "Why, Sam! Have we stooped to exploiting loopholes?"

"Well, as long as you keep stealing my lines."

"I told ya not to give me any ammo. It's your own fault for not listening," Gabriel shrugged innocently.

Despite the fact that Gabriel had refused to show up in their little, shared headspace since the second night Sam had attempted to use his powers, Gabriel's mood had continued to improve. His jokes weren't as forced. It didn't seem like he was constantly checking over his shoulder to see if anyone would catch him acting even remotely vulnerable. The banter between Sam and Gabriel came as easily as breathing.

It helped that Dean had taken Sam's suggestion to back off a bit to heart. It was easier to hang out with someone when you weren't thinking about how pissed off you'd make the third wheel. They'd grown _comfortable_ around one another. Completely. And that made it easier to not dance around that once-pesky topic of the attraction they had for one another.

The light flirting between the two of them had increased, though the unspoken rule was to never do_ that_ around Grouchy Big Brother. Neither Sam nor Gabriel wanted to hear the loud groans of protest that would follow, or see the judgmental glares increase in number again. Dean was limiting himself to one per day now. That was the best they could hope for.

"And this is all _my_ doing?" Sam asked to clarify, holding the book up.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Please. I might be a romantic, but I'm a teacher first and foremost. I don't grade on a curve. No favoritism here. That _blank_ novel was _all you_."

The grin returned to Sam's face as he looked down at the book in his hands. He'd done it. He'd finally done it. The big part of his mind that he used to constantly criticize himself for being a freak could go fuck itself. He'd passed Gabriel's little test - his own test, really - and he fully planned to revel in that victory for days.

Sam leaned down to press his lips firmly against Gabriel's. Physical affection was another thing coming more easily between them. Gabriel never initiated anything past a discrete, yet lingering, touch, but he never turned away from the chaste kisses Sam gave him on occasion. Gabriel's problem was that he was still wary of diving into something he wasn't sure he could get out of, and Sam didn't fault him for that. Sam was content to get what he got from the Archangel, and to give what he gave. And Gabriel, from what Sam could gather, was grateful for _that_. At least, if the smoldering look of approval he gave Sam when Sam pulled away was anything to go by.

Sam thought about leaning forward again, to give Gabriel an even deeper kiss and see where it took them, and Gabriel had that mischievous look in his eyes that made Sam think he was being challenged to do so. Unfortunately, Sam never got the opportunity to find out.

"Sam?" Dean's voice called out, and Sam nearly rolled his eyes back so far he could see his brain. "Sam, was that you - Oh, come on! Not on the table. We eat there!"

Sam reluctantly pulled himself away from Gabriel and stood up straight. He glared over his shoulder at Dean, who stood near the entrance of the library and was gesturing towards them with his arms outstretched, palms up, as if questioning the scene before him. Sam made note of the phone in his right hand.

"Nothing was happening," Sam told him firmly, finger raised for emphasis.

"I think your nose grew a little there, Pinocchio," Gabriel teased.

Obviously, _he_ wasn't in the mood to sugarcoat anything on Dean's behalf. Sam sighed.

"What d'ya want, Dean?" He asked.

"Wow. I feel loved."

"It's, like, two in the morning. Why are you up?" Sam amended.

"Three-fifteen," Gabriel corrected.

The table creaked slightly as he slid off it to stand beside Sam. Sam stared at him, silently conveying the message that his point - that it was way too early in the morning - still stood. Also, there was the little fact there was a _phone_ in Dean's hand.

"Cas called," Dean replied with a nod, shaking the phone in his hand to show them. "I was talking with him. And then I hear the little pitter-patter of feet go slapping down the hall past my bedroom door. Got a _little_ curious to find out where the fire was. Didn't realize it was in your pants. Had I known _that_ \- "

"That's not! I _conjured the book_," Sam explained, desperately trying to derail whatever images Dean was cooking up. He held up the blue novel for emphasis.

Dean's brows rose, a genuine look of interest on his face. After all, for the past two weeks, he'd let loose his never-ending vault of criticisms and jokes about Sam's ability to use his abilities - or his _inability _to use them, that is - that he was probably surprised Sam'd actually managed to do what he'd deemed impossible. Sam was more than deviously thrilled by Dean's silent approval.

Dean's attention then turned back to Sam. "Can you summon a burger?"

Sam had to resist the urge to throw the book at his brother's face. Instead, he frowned in annoyance and let the arm holding the book drop to his side. Leave it to Dean to not take anything seriously.

"Hey, bro!" Gabriel called out, startling Sam.

"Hello, Gabriel," Cas' voice came from the phone in Dean's hand.

"You... You left him on speaker?!" Sam nearly shrieked.

For one thing, that was completely rude to Cas. For another... Dean thinking about his sex life was bad enough. He didn't want Cas picturing anything as well. Because Gabriel was his brother. And Sam was his friend. And that probably made things more than a bit awkward.

Then again, this was Castiel, and he sometimes was too unphased for his own good. Sam might just be projecting his embarrassment.

"Yes," Castiel replied for Dean.

"Says he's found a clue about those angel cases we spotted a while back," Dean stated as he walked towards them.

"It's not an angel," Castiel clarified.

"It's not?" Sam questioned.

"Oh, yay," Gabriel deadpanned. "I can see where this is going."

Then, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. Gabriel still had a very low opinion of hunting. He and Sam had discussed the issue shortly after the case in Pennsylvania. Most of it _was_ Dean's biting attitude towards Gabriel, his constant need to have the Archangel under his thumb and his suspicions, but some of it was also Gabriel's desire to work _alone_. He was having trouble adjusting, and he'd told Sam that he made no promises that he'd be able to fully.

"Most of the victims _were _demons, and they _were_ smote, but not by an angel blade. Even the method of smiting is unusual. Nothing from the known Choirs. I had my angels - "

Gabriel snorted, "_Your_ angels?"

Though his tone was teasing there was bite to it, and Sam wasn't sure why. It caused him to frown, worriedly glancing at Gabriel. Gabriel's expression was easily guarded. Something was bothering him.

"_My_ angels," Castiel bit back.

Sam and Dean shared a questioning look.

"I am their leader, they have pledged their loyalty to me, I issue their commands. They... They _approve_ of me, as far as I can tell, so, yes, _Gabriel_, I consider them my Garrison."

"Eh," Gabriel dismissed, and the ominous feeling Sam was reading from him dissipated. "Suit yourself. Like I said: Better you than me."

"O-_kay_," Dean drawled uneasily. "Wanna get back to just what your angels did, Cas?"

"Of course. I had them check the surrounding areas for any other forms of angelic activity."

"And they found bumpkiss," Dean filled in.

"No. They actually found quite a lot."

Dean stared at the ceiling like he was asking it for strength.

"Then..." Sam began gently. "Um. Then why do you say it's not an angel? If it, obviously, does angel things?"

"Because angels wouldn't _do _those things. Not on their own." Cas sighed. "Let me start from the beginning: The activities we discovered were minor miracles. Angels were taught never to perform minor miracles unless ordered by their superiors, and even then it was only with special cases. Take for instance the angels who were sent to protect Kevin when he became a prophet. Divine intervention is..._sacred_. But this creature, whatever it is, doesn't adhere to these rules."

"What sorta minor miracles are we talkin' 'bout, Cas?" Dean asked.

"Healings, mostly. The first we can find documentation for is a young child that was cured of cancer. ...A lot of children were healed, actually."

"You consider curing cancer _minor?_"

"Maybe the angel's just answering prayers?" Sam suggested with a shrug.

"You do _nooot_ know how we work," Gabriel muttered. When Sam and Dean looked to him, he continued, "Yeah, okay. Your happy-go-lucky quasi-religious books spout off angels answering prayers like volunteers hand out free food to the unfortunates at the local food drive. But, truth is? That ain't part of the job description. Not really. Those are just rumors angels spread around to keep up good PR. I mean, _really_. Given your history with 'em, have you seen _any_ angel - other than you, Castiel - come running to your aid just because you prayed to them? And for reasons other than ones that could benefit them?"

"Yeah, that would be _none_," Dean agreed.

"Well... Maybe, after the Fall, some of the angels decided to, I don't know, _help?_ Got a feel of what it's like to be stuck down in the muck with the rest of us and gained some compassion?" Sam offered, though he was really just grabbing at straws.

Gabriel chuckled once, "Those chances are slim to none, Sam."

"I've begun ordering some of the angels to help, Sam," Castiel spoke up, drawing their attention, "but, as I said before, they're just following orders. I haven't... As much as it pains me to admit, I haven't really come across any of our kind that genuinely wants to help humanity. The ones that were... Bartholomew killed them all. He found them weak. None were left, to my knowledge."

"Bu- _To your knowledge_, Cas. That could mean - "

"Okay! We get it, Sam," Dean smiled. "You're _really_ fishing for a friendly neighborhood angel, and I get it. I really do. I wish a majority of them weren't dicks with wings, too. But Cas' already said the smiting doesn't match normal angels, so... Let's let the man - angel - speak."

Sam huffed, shrugging his shoulders to release the tension building in them, but he relented. Dean did have a point about the angel smiting thing, but... Well, he had a point that some of the angels _could_ be out there doing the right thing! Even if the chances were slim, there were still some chances!

Unfortunately, Dean was right. Sam _was_ just hoping that the creatures he'd been praying to since he was a child could, at some point, give a damn.

"Thank you," Cas said politely. "As I was saying: It doesn't appear to be a true angel, but the danger it poses is as real as any. If this creature has the power to smite, it has the potential to kill innocent people. I do not think it has yet, but there's still the chance. I was hoping you three could assess the situation, as I'd like my Garrison to stay focused on finding Metatron and Gadreel."

"I like how he throws me in there like hunting's my thing," Gabriel joked.

"Yeah, you're comin', too, buddy," Dean smiled again.

Gabriel groaned, rolled his eyes, and then tilted his head back to glare at the ceiling.

"And how far away is this _hunt?_"

"Manhattan," Castiel replied smoothly.

Dean and Sam shared a look. They both knew what was coming, and when they glanced back to Gabriel they saw his ire written clearly across his face. Even despite the smile.

"Castiel. Brother. The next time I see you. I'm going to kill you," Gabriel merrily informed him. "Just letting you know ahead of time."

A short pause followed, and then, "Why?"

Dean snickered, "Because Gabriel hates long car rides. You just made day, Cas. I'll forgive ya for calling me before the crack o' dawn. And we'll see what we can do. Send over any information you got regarding this thing we're gonna be trackin'."

"Alright. Good-bye, Dean. Sam. And... I'm sorry, Gabriel?"

"No, you're not," Gabriel whispered venomously.

Dean hung up, a giant grin on his face. He pocketed his phone and folded his arms.

"Twenty plus hours drive ahead of ya, Gabey. And that's just one way," he prodded gleefully. "Want another coloring book to tide ya over?"

"Eat my entire ass, Dean Winchester."

"Yeah, no. I'll leave that for Sam. Thanks for the offer, though."

Sam placed his head in his free hand. He tried to tell himself that, hey, at least they weren't killing each other. That was a plus. Sort of. Okay, so the constant bickering was more than slightly grating, but, beggars couldn't be choosers. Sam had wanted a truce. This was as good as he was going to get: Crass sexual innuendos and death threats over long car rides.

And his morning had started off _so well_.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter may as well be called 'Hurry Up And Get To The Good Parts Bleh'. So, my step-grandfather died hours before I finished this chapter, and, yeah. I leave it at that. If there are mistakes in this chapter, it's 'cause I ain't in the mood to proofread.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Finally. That arc I've been planning for months and just now got to. I have no idea how long this is going to be, but I hope it's as fun a ride for you as it is for me. Ew, accidental rhyming. Bit of a disclaimer: Once again, I'm tweaking _Supernatural_ lore to refit _actual lore, _because I find that more exciting for everyone involved. But it's just a tweak. You'll find out later exactly _what_ I tweaked, don't worry.

Update: Season 10 Finale came out while I was writing this and let's just say: Hahaha, we're ignoring most o' that. Seriously, that was shoddy retconning, they caused more plotholes than they did anything, and just... Good idea, bad form.

Song worth mention: "Big Yellow Taxi" by Counting Crows.

* * *

By the time they reached Manhattan, they'd been given all the information Castiel had regarding their new case _and_ they had one very catty Gabriel. It'd taken them two days total to get to New York City. The first day held roughly twelve hours of driving and seven-hundred fifty miles, and Gabriel had quickly dissolved into something akin to a very grouchy, puffed up ball of fur masquerading as a cat.

Sam, of course, found the whole situation hilarious. Gabriel was abnormally adorable when he pouted indignantly and nearly sunk into the floorboard of the Impala in protest to the horrible Winchesters dragging him along on their little joyride. Unfortunately, Gabriel did not share the sentiment regarding his demeanor. Any time he spotted Sam smiling at him he grew just a little more aggravated at life in general. Sam was not deterred and kept up the smiles.

Columbus, Ohio was their stop for the 'midway' mark, and Gabriel'd nearly tripped over himself in his overeager attempt to flee the backseat. Once free from his vehicular prison, as he'd so lovingly called it - earning a glare and some sass from Dean - Gabriel's mood improved. Marginally. He still had something negative to say regarding the suites Dean had chosen for them to spend the night in.

And he had something negative to say about Dean's choice of television shows. Sam was one-hundred percent sure a fight for the remote would have gone down if Gabriel had needed to use a remote to change the channels. As it stood, the fight was merely Dean furiously clicking buttons on the remote, scowling all the while, and Gabriel, on the other queen-sized bed, blinking repeatedly with a giant grin plastered across his face. Only when the remote went sailing scant inches past his nose did Sam decide, "Okay, enough."

Due to Dean's cheapskate mentality, Sam had to share a bed with Gabriel. Not that Sam minded, really. Hell, he would've been eager to do something a little more intimate with Gabriel, like cuddling. It was just that...they were in the same room as Dean. And though Gabriel had never - not since the time Sam had hopped into his dreams to break the angel siren's influence over him - slept in the same bed as Sam, Dean seemed to be of the mind that they had. He made sure to inform them that, if he woke up in the middle of the night to anything freaky happening on their side of the room, he'd roast them both, after pouring bleach directly into his brain through his ears.

Gabriel had cheekily reminded him that that's not how anatomy worked.

Truthfully, Sam suspected the reason Gabriel hadn't offered to sleep with Sam was because, other than his desire to take their budding relationship slow, something Sam was okay with, he _didn't sleep_. How awkward would it be to have to cuddle someone, consciously, for the entire time they slept? For Sam, that was four hours _at least_. Four hours of just staring at someone's face, afraid to move for fear of waking them up. Yeah, Sam could see why there wasn't much of an appeal to do that.

Gabriel had remained _on_ the bed, in any case, leaning against the headboard as he continued to watch TV. The last thing Sam remembered before he dozed off was curling up against Gabriel, not quite touching him but close enough to feel his body heat. When he woke up, he was surprised to find himself alone on the bed, spread out and face down.

Looking around, he'd spotted Gabriel lying across the loveseat in the room. His explanation was:

"You're like a giant, rolling octopus. That kicks."

Sam filed that away as a third reason Gabriel might not want to sleep with him.

After gathering their things, they left, practically dragging Gabriel out to the car. A little over ten hours later, Gabriel was back to being a sourpuss. One even _Dean_ didn't want to poke lest Gabriel explode. It was just after nine in the evening by the time they began to circle Midtown East for both parking and a hotel.

"Man, this sucks," Dean complained, glaring at the traffic around him. "I hate cities. No, I hate _parking_ in cities. And the fact that hotels are out the ass expensive. I don't have money coming out of my ass."

"Why is that the second time I've heard that come out of a Winchester's mouth?" Gabriel asked, his head leant back against the seat while he 'rested his eyes.'

Dean frowned, questioning, and looked over at Sam in the passenger seat. Sam shrugged.

"Last hunt?" Sam offered Dean. "Back in Dayton? Gabriel wasn't impressed by the room you paid for. Said his standards were a little higher. I explained the whole money issue."

"Of course he complained. When _doesn't_ he complain? Y'know what, birdbrain, if you wanna drink from a silver spoon, how 'bout forkin' over the dough to get it done? Until then -"

Dean paused as a card went sailing from the back and bounced off the dashboard. Both Dean and Sam stared down at it. Sam reached over to pick it up and looked it over. It was a credit card. A gold-colored credit card under the name 'Gabriel Angel.' And, if he knew Gabriel as well as he thought he did, this one was probably unlimited. He turned in his seat to face Gabriel.

"Did you just _create_ a credit card?"

"Ee-yup," Gabriel chirped, hands behind his head and looking a little more cheerful. "Might I suggest the Hilton? It's two blocks back. Parking's up ahead, turn left. We'll have to walk back, but, eh. Nothing we can't handle, right, boys?"

"You created a credit card," Dean muttered judgmentally, but he followed Gabriel's instruction.

"Been here before?" Sam questioned, genuinely intrigued to learn about Gabriel's past.

"It's New York City," Gabriel replied. "What kind of trickster would I be if I _didn't_ hit up the joint?"

Gabriel had him there. Large cities had their reputations, and statistically, it'd be easier to find assholes like the ones Gabriel targeted within them. The thought brought with it many more, most of which were centered around where Gabriel had traveled the most while being the Trickster. Sam was curious, if nothing else.

"Y'know," Dean began, spotting that promised parking garage, "I still don't get how you - an _Archangel_ \- became a trickster. Like, you were cream of the crop. _Why?_"

"Do I hafta go over the whole witness protection speech again, or?"

"No, I get _that!_ Why choose to murder dickheads? You could have easily, I don't know, pretended to be a god that actually _ran_ things. Coulda been worshiped as something that wasn't as much of a colossal dick as the guys he gave it to. Why didn't you? Fuck, Metatron seems to have jumped at the chance. Raphael - "

"I don't have delusions of grandeur," Gabriel replied, though his tone made Sam think Dean should tread lightly. "Look: I wasn't made to lead. I was made to take orders and pass 'em on. That's what I did. Why the hell would I pretend to be a god that had the whooole weight of the world on my shoulders? Yeah, no thanks.

"As for why I chose a trickster? It's simple: I was tired of assholes abusing their power over others. I said, 'You know what? Fuck you,' and decided to give them a taste of their own medicine. Treat others the way you want to be treated. Ain't that the Golden Rule?"

"So... Murdering people is your idea of setting things right?" Dean asked, sarcasm dripping off every word.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and his head. "I've already gone over this with you: They had it comin'. What I did as the trickster wasn't that different from what you two do as hunters. You hunt monsters that hurt people; I hunt _people_ that hurt people. People that would continue to hurt others if someone didn't step up and put them in their place. And, for the record, I didn't kill _every_ dickbag that I pranked. Those that had the slightest sliver of a chance to change their ways I let walk away with their tail between their legs."

"Oh, well. Good Samaritan over here."

Sam picked apart Gabriel's explanation, furiously working through it and adding it to what he already knew about Gabriel. Gabriel's past, his relationships with his brothers and the other angels. They're what had propelled him to leave in the first place. Not unlike how Sam had decided Stanford was better for him than a lifetime of hunting and being lied to. (Funny how _that_ had turned out.) And, if he had to guess, it was those same relationships that had inspired Gabriel to take out 'dicks.' Or, as Gabriel had said, those who abused their power over others. Two particular Archangels came to mind.

"There's something that's been bugging me," Sam spoke up. "When did you figure out we were the Vessels for your brothers?"

Sam refaced Gabriel. Gabriel's expression was more somber now, nearly guarded. He knew that Sam's question was a tricky one, and Sam knew that he knew. But he still wanted an answer, and a truthful one. At what point, whether at Crawford Hall or Broward County, did Gabriel clue in? Had he always known and simply denied the evidence that was right in front of him that the Apocalypse was coming?

Gabriel sighed, aware that Dean was staring at him from the rearview mirror as well.

"Can I start off by saying that I sensed it as soon as you came bounding up in those corny costumes and that _painfully obvious_ EMF detector?" Gabriel admitted. "But I'd also like to add: I've run into my brothers' Vessels before. Didn't mean they were ever _the ones_." He wiggled his fingers for effect. "It wasn't until I saw you two fighting that I kinda went, 'Wait a minute.' Very... Michael and Lucifer. Then you left. I stayed behind. I did some thinking. When I picked up wind of the deal Dean made... That sold it for me."

"And you decided that killing me and mentally torturing Sam for all those Tuesdays was the _productive_ way to stop the Apocalypse."

"Dean," Sam chastised. He'd already discussed that little snag in their relationship enough. Gabriel had already admitted he was at fault and apologized. That was all Sam cared about now.

"Yup," Gabriel deadpanned. "Never claimed to be a genius."

"Oh, good, because you sure as hell ain't one."

"Gonna let you have that one, Dean-o. Keep going and I might not be so generous. After all, I've already let you use my credit card for whatever your tiny heart desires."

Dean scoffed, "Because you're spoiled and think yourself too good to do what the rest of us peasants do, and that's work for a living."

Gabriel leaned forward to whisper in Dean's ear, "_Archangel_." Dean jumped in reflex. "Also, hate to break it to ya, buddy boy, but fraud and gambling aren't _work_."

Sam smiled to himself. Despite the topic, he knew that this was one of those rare moments where Gabriel and Dean were having a _pleasant_ conversation, and he wasn't about to inform them of that. As soon as they learned they were being cordial with one another, they'd immediately stop just to save face.

It was a bit of a relief to learn that Gabriel hadn't _always_ known they were the True Vessels. Gabriel's speech years ago had made him wonder. Had all of Heaven known it would be _them?_ Had thousands of years been..._wasted_ waiting for the arrival of Sam and Dean Winchester? Had angels looked down on him in his crib and laughed because they knew, no matter what he did, he'd always end up their enemy? Was that why they hated him?

It was as terrifying to think about now as it had been back then. The scope of _destiny_ was terrifying. The idea that he was damned from the jump. Someone had to be the scapegoat and God'd chosen him.

He'd feared that the Trickster's 'lesson' back in Broward County had merely been punishment for something Sam couldn't control, instead of a legitimate reaction - a panicked attempt to stop what he felt inevitable - on Gabriel's part. Though Sam still thought Gabriel had reacted cruelly, the former scenario was only _worse_ in Sam's eyes.

Dean finally found a parking spot and squeezed in-between an SUV and a beat-up Ford with out-of-state tags. As the hotel was blocks away, Sam and Dean did their best to remove as much of their supplies from the trunk as they could get away with. Most of their weapons were going to have to be left behind, and Dean was not thrilled about it. He complained the whole walk down about being unprepared. Then, he complained about the company Baby was staying with. He complained more about the chances of 'the asshole in front of us' dinging up her paint job.

Sam gave Gabriel a look while they followed Dean. Gabriel sent one back that said, 'Yes, your brother _is_ too attached to his vehicle.' There was sentimentality, and then there was what Dean felt towards the Impala. His possessiveness regarding their family car was beyond creepy.

Fifty dollars later, courtesy of Gabriel, the three of them left the parking garage. As Gabriel was the one with a more intimate knowledge of the area, Dean let him lead. For once. Sam didn't mention how annoyed Dean appeared by letting Gabriel have the reins to something. He was like a child complaining that he couldn't be number one anymore.

The Hilton Gabriel had chosen turned out to be an odd little building, at least to Sam. He was used to motels on highways, long buildings with a ton of floor space. New York didn't share the same space as the open road, though, and this time they were staying in a skinny building with about sixteen floors. Sam stared up at the towering piece of architecture. Well, at least Dean wasn't under any pesky ghost sickness, or they'd have to find somewhere else to spend the night.

He turned a skeptical look towards Gabriel. Nothing about the brick building spoke opulence to him, which was something he knew Gabriel was gearing for. Hell, if it hadn't been for the small, gold font over the door announcing it _was_ the Hilton, Sam would've walked right past the thing. The buildings surrounding it stood out more to him as being worthy of the title _Hilton_. Except for the small, dark building directly to their left that Sam hadn't really paid attention to, too busy watching Gabriel walk in front of him.

"Really?" Dean critiqued, drawing both Sam and Gabriel's attention.

"_What?_" Gabriel shot back defensively.

"We're right beside the Church of the Covenant is what! Is that why you wanted to stay here?"

"Oh, that thing," Gabriel mused, tilting his head to look at the church. It was a tiny thing compared to the multi-storied buildings around it. "Nah. Never been in there. Not my style. But, now that you mention it, that is kinda funny! Nice catch, Dean-o!"

Gabriel slapped Dean's arm gaily and then practically skipped into the Hilton, pushing through the revolving door like he'd arrived home after a long day of work and he was glad to be back. Sam pinched his lips together to keep from smiling and looked over at his brother. Dean was staring at his shoulder. He slowly looked up at Sam.

"I hate him," he announced.

"No, yeah, I know," Sam replied in sympathy. He patted Dean's shoulder for good measure, snickered, and followed after Gabriel.

Once inside the Hilton, Sam's opinion of the place drastically changed. Outside might've been unimpressive, but the inside was fancy. The style was formal. White, browns, grays, and gold. Sparkling white tiles with brown accents every few feet and wooden paneled walls stretched back into the building, which was a lot deeper than Sam had thought it was. Large, oval-shaped lights hung from the ceiling, alternating in size and placement to add a bit of style to the otherwise strict atmosphere given by the décor. Small resting areas sat across from the front desk and on their left. They were hard to see from the entrance, but Sam spotted an empty chair within one and made the connection. In the far back, Sam could make out an eating area with long, wooden tables and wooden chairs.

"Damn," Dean muttered from beside him. "Gotta hand it to him: It's definitely a step up from what _we're_ used to."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "But, funny thing is: I think it's a few steps _down_ compared to what _he's_ used to."

"Dude," Dean patted him with the back of his hand, "we should get him to take us to Vegas. Penthouse suite. Unlimited, _magical_ credit card. The things we could do."

"You wanna drive him there?"

Dean cringed immediately. Yeah, driving Gabriel back to the Bunker was going to be bad enough. It would take _days_ after that for Sam and Dean to recharge their mental batteries in preparation for a trip some sixteen hours to Vegas. For no reason at all. Other than Dean's desire to take advantage of Gabriel's tastes and hospitality.

It wouldn't be worth it.

Gabriel was already at the front desk, so they dropped their conversation and quickly walked over to him. He had his hands lazily stuffed into the front pockets of his slacks. The grin he was giving the clerk made Sam suspect he was already trying to flirt his way into everyone's good graces, and the small smiles all the clerks wore made it seem it was working.

"So, you're looking for three kings?" The young woman Gabriel was beaming at asked in that chipper tone anyone who worked with the public defaulted to.

"What?" Dean clipped. He glared down at Gabriel, "Hold up. _No._ We got work to do. Why're you tryin' to separate us?"

"One moment," Gabriel pleasantly requested of the clerk. He turned to look at Dean, "I've just been stuck in a car with the two o' you for nearly twenty-four hours total. No offense, guys, but I'd like a little _me_ time. A place where I can stretch out, be myself, and do whatever the hell I want without commentary. I'm getting my own room. Now, if _you two_ want two queens..."

"If anyone's getting two queens," Dean motioned with his finger at Sam and Gabriel, "it'll be _you two_."

Gabriel looked like he wanted to say something, something that would rightfully school Dean in front of God and everybody, he just didn't know how to say it. And it was those few seconds of thought that Sam used to his advantage.

He glanced at the clerk, who was awkwardly watching them, and said, "Three kings is fine."

"Ha!" Gabriel crowed in victory.

"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean complained. "Why d'you gotta undermine my authority like that?"

"Because it's _Gabriel's_ credit card, therefore _Gabriel_ gets to choose."

Gabriel stuck his tongue out at Dean. Dean made a face at him in return.

Despite their childish behavior and heated debate, the front desk took it all in stride and went back to work trying to accommodate the strange men in their presence. Sam envied them their professionalism. When all was said and done, Sam, Dean, and Gabriel all had one king-sized guest room under their names. Sam and Dean, naturally, chose to be booked with the _wrong_ last names of Smith. Gabriel stuck with 'Gabriel Angel,' and Sam was pretty sure it was because he wanted to get a laugh about, as Gabriel put it, his parents' shitty sense of humor. And he did get that laugh, much to Dean's dismay.

Their rooms weren't connected, unfortunately. Rooms had been booked far in advance by all the other patrons, and Sam, Dean, and Gabriel were lucky to get what they got. At least Dean and Sam were able to get on the sixth floor together. Gabriel was stuck up on the eighth. Not that _Gabriel_ minded, but Dean was worried about what shenanigans the Archangel could get up to on his own, and Sam was a little saddened to be separated from him.

Because they _did_ have work to do, they all piled into Sam's room, he and his brother quickly working to get everything needed unpacked and put away.

The room was just big enough for all of them, the king-sized bed taking up most of the floor space. Like the entrance, it held the appearance that it was marketed towards no-nonsense, business types. Light gray walls, cream sheets with multiple matching pillows, a large, dark-brown, wooden headboard. The light fixtures were silver: two wall lights on either side of the headboard, a tall reading lamp in the corner beside the dark beige loveseat, and a desk lamp on a computer desk that sat within a recess in the wall. A tiny coffee table sat in front of aforementioned loveseat, and, for whatever reason, the furniture was _not_ facing the TV in the room.

As Sam struggled to pull his laptop free from a pair of pants that were desperately clinging to it, Dean flung a second duffle of clothes onto the bed.

"Man," Dean began, "why couldn't you mojo us a free suite, or something? We coulda had a wet bar!"

Sam finally freed his laptop and frowned at his brother, "How do you know the suites have wet bars?"

Dean held up a pamphlet for the Hilton, "Yanked it from the front desk. Wanted to know what I was missin'."

"The lengths _you'll_ go to to complain," Gabriel muttered. He glanced around lazily and then let himself fall onto the small loveseat by the window. He put his feet on the table and continued, "Yeah, I coulda waved my hand, altered some code, and let us bum a few king-sized suites, but... I don't feel like kicking people out of their rooms for no reason other than your vanity."

"Says the Archangel that wanted to stay here, instead of somewhere cheaper, because of his _standards_," Dean shot back.

"Right!" Sam stated, ignoring them, "So, we have burnt out eyeballs and miraculous healings."

He sat on the foot of his bed, opened his laptop, and booted it up. It wouldn't take him long to pull up the documents and information he had compiled from what Castiel had sent him. With that, they could better plan their method of attack for the case.

"And, according to the angels, it's not an angel. What else could it be?" He asked.

"Was I supposed to be thinkin' 'bout the answer to that on the way here?" Dean joked, pulling a wrinkled suit from his bag.

"Yes."

"Well," Gabriel spoke. "If it ain't an angel, and I hafta agree with my wayward siblings on that one, then it's either something made to mimic one, or something that believes it's one."

Sam frowned at the latter option. He took a deep breath, eyes glancing quickly to his laptop screen. They'd encountered something like that before, he and Dean. Many years ago. Funnily enough, that wasn't the first time he'd been reminded of that case.

"What the hell could be made to mimic an angel?" Dean inquired.

Gabriel shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine. You can do a lot of nifty things with magic. Problem is: Which magic could've been used? Witches are all the time comin' up with new spells and tricks. It's why they keep those handy-dandy spellbooks with them. And just because a spell is a new creation, doesn't mean it can't be as potent and powerful as the old stuff."

Sam tapped his fingers on the side of his laptop. He finally decided to voice his concerns.

"You said something could believe it's one, right? Like a spirit?"

"What, like that case we had with the priest?" Dean asked, dropping two suits onto the bed and moving for the closet.

One of Gabriel's brows were raised. "You had a case with a dead priest that thought he was an angel?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. He... He was murdered. Didn't get his last rites. Heard his friend praying for help in the neighborhood... Somehow, he came back as a ghost, thinking he was an angel. But... What was so weird about it was that he _seemed_ like an angel, y'know?"

"Dude, he told you to kill somebody," Dean commented.

"That dude was a jerk!" Sam defended. "You even admitted that! _Everyone_ he had killed was a jerk! But, that's just the thing: _How did he know? _How did he know what that guy was going to do before he did it? He was a ghost! They're not omniscient! …Are they?"

"Nope," Gabriel replied when Sam looked at him. "Sure, they can go through walls and get juicy gossip that way, but they can't do the whole mind-reading thing. Certain types of ghosts can _sense_ things, but it's not finite. Nothing too in-detail. Can't see into the future. Unless they were psychic beforehand, but that's a whole 'nother can o' worms. So, a _human soul_ really managed to come across as angelic?"

Sam shrugged helplessly, "As far as I knew how to describe angels back then. White light, hearing prayers, predicting calamities and warning people of them. Like, okay, it was pretty cliché stuff compared to what we know of angels _now_ \- no offense - but, I haven't seen another case like that one since."

"Unless _this_ is one," Dean grumbled.

Sam looked over his shoulder, finally registering what his brother was doing. The ironing board kind of gave him away. Sam frowned at it.

"Why're you doing that _now_, it's, like, ten at night. Why not wait until morning?"

"More like nine-forty and change," Gabriel corrected.

"Why do you do that?" Sam asked him.

"Because it annoys you," Gabriel purred with a smile.

Sam rolled his eyes at both of them.

"Yeah, well, as for me? I'm ironing these tonight so that I don't have to do it in the morning. I'm planning on getting my pay's worth out of that king-sized bed waiting for me. By the way: Don't come knockin' on my door until after ten. Either of ya."

"Fine. Whatever. Case. _Could_ it be another spirit pretending to be an angel?"

"Could be," Gabriel shrugged again. "Could _not _be. I'm tellin' ya, boys, unless we dig deeper than the surface on this one, we could be here awhile. Because I know far too many things it could be, and you two've got bupkis." He snorted, "And I don't think you want a reenactment of the time you couldn't figure out I was a Trickster."

Dean paused, iron in hand, as he glared over at Gabriel, "Wait, you saw all that? The fuck were you hiding?"

The Cheshire cat grin on Gabriel's face was the only reply Dean received. He wasn't going to give away his secrets in assholery. Sam wasn't going to ruin the mood by bringing up that, yeah, without Bobby, it'd be bad to reenact something like that.

He finally put all of his attention onto the computer sitting on his thighs. Navigating his files, he pulled up the newspaper clippings of different cases, crime scene photos, tabloids listing the miracles of whatever it was they were hunting.

The incidents spanned across many states, but recently they stuck to New York, the last few being centered in New York City.

The two dead victims, according to Castiel, had definitely been demons, as the smell of sulfur was easily identifiable to his angels and their...oddly specific and powerful sense of smell. The bodies had been found in an alleyway in, funnily enough, Hell's Kitchen. The police still had no idea what had killed the two men, and the rumors were already flying that something supernatural had taken place. And, like every other time someone claimed something 'supernatural' or 'extraterrestrial' had occured, those rumors were not being taken seriously. Except by them.

As for the healings, there were numerous ones - again, according to Castiel - however, most were mentioned only in local, religious newspapers. Only one healing had made major headlines, and that was of the young girl who'd been miraculously cured of cancer. Brain cancer, to be precise, and the latter stages of it, as well. At the point where doctors stopped pretending they could stop the inevitable. The harsh truth was that the girl should be dead. Yet, not long after everyone had given up hope, the aggressive tumor was gone. Just like that. No traces remained of its influence on her body, either. She was right as rain, and it seemed like every media outlet was scrambling to get an interview with her and her mother.

The news stations were worse than sharks, in Sam's opinion.

And he, Dean, and Gabriel were probably going to be given the same treatment by the Joneses: A short-tempered refusal and a slammed door in their faces. Sam wouldn't blame them. He could only imagine how annoyed they were by the unwanted press.

"Anyway," Sam began, "where do we start? With the cases, I mean. We'll probably get a better understanding of what we're dealing with if we actually interview someone this time."

"Unlike last time," Dean said, checking the iron's temperature, "when Gabriel knew all along and lead us on because he's a dick."

"Dean."

"I don't see the point of going to the police station about the vics," Dean continued. "Demons' bodies have long been put in the ground, and the coroner's reports can't tell us more than we already know. The cops sure as hell ain't gonna be able to tell us anything. Not if their last interview is anything to go by. I think it'd be a waste of time _and_ gas."

"So, we just ask those that this _thing_ healed? See if any of them got a good look at who, or what, did it? I mean -" Sam clicked onto the window with the various newspaper clippings, "- none of these truly state they saw what healed them, though... I think, maybe... Three? Three or four seem to say it was definitely an angel. Because, to them, what else could it have been?"

"Did they pray?" Gabriel spoke up, drawing Sam's attention.

He seemed elsewhere, eyes unfocused, but Sam could tell it was because he was thinking. When he zoned out for a more _angelic _reason, he always furrowed his brow just a little.

"Well, these are mostly _religious_ newspapers from local publishers. So, yeah, they probably prayed. Why? You think whatever this is can hear their prayers? You were kinda against that idea day before yesterday."

"_No_," Gabriel drawled, "I was against an _angel_ following prayers. What we're dealing with _isn't_ an angel, though. This creature is mimicking one, but only a more _human_ interpretation of one. It's bought the sales pitch just as easily as any Bible thumper. If these people prayed for protection, like with the demons, or for healing, like with those folks in the papers?" Gabriel shook his head, eyes drifting away from Sam's, "Only problem is... I don't know of anything that can listen in on the prayer line."

"What?" Dean tried to joke, "Different, super-secret wavelength of angel radio?"

"Yes. You pray to Castiel, you get Castiel. You pray to me... Well, you might get me, but I've kinda turned off that station."

"You turned off prayers?" Sam scolded.

"Hey! I have a _very_ popular name and a bit of a reputation. In more than one religion. You want four billion people chattering away in your head all hours of the day? I don't think so. So, yeah, I might've cut down most of the background noise. Made an exception for you two, recently, if it makes ya feel any better."

"Yeah, not really," Dean muttered, focusing on his work.

Sam sighed, dragging his hand tiredly across his face. He was exhausted, for multiple reasons, and they weren't really getting anywhere in figuring out what they were dealing with. If anything, they were just digging a deeper hole of confusion.

"Something that's not an angel, but thinks it is, and can listen in on prayers, when it shouldn't be able to," he mumbled. "...Should we ask _who_ these people prayed to? I mean, like you said, if we pray to Cas, we get Cas. Maybe they designated their prayers to a certain angel? Maybe they didn't? Learning that will help us figure out if we're dealing with, I don't know, another confused spirit. Or another 'messenger of God' that's hopping religions. Like how Gwyn was ferrying people over to Annwn, since they couldn't pass on to Heaven."

"Like something's picking up the slack because _certain angels_ are ignoring prayers?" Dean inquired.

"Something like that."

Gabriel shrugged, "Maybe."

"Right, well, with that out of the way: Who's interviewing whom?"

* * *

Leave it to Sam to get stuck with the Joneses. Not that he minded, really. He was awfully curious to see how the young Makayla was doing. How extensively had this creature healed her? Had there been any adverse side-effects afterwards that would point to this healing being temporary? But it wasn't just his curiosity regarding her _miraculous_ recovery that drew him to her case. He was also not too self-conscious to admit that he was a giant sap when it came to happy endings, and he wished more than anything that she got to keep hers.

The only problem was going to be skirting past her mother, Aliyah. From the phone call he'd made earlier that morning, he could already tell the woman wasn't going to trust him. She seemed weary of telling hers and her daughter's story _again_. However, she'd still relented. Sam made sure to assure her that he wouldn't tread where she didn't want him to, and that he wouldn't be offended if she told him to leave at any point during the interview.

Due to the nature of the case, Sam had left his tie and suit jacket back in his motel room, going instead in only the dress shirt and slacks Dean had so painstakingly ironed the night before. He was going as a curious author researching some information for a book about unexplained happenings within the medical field, so he wanted to appear formal but not over-the-top. Someone approachable and relatable but also with an air that said, "I treat my work seriously."

He'd had to get hold of a taxi service to arrive at his destination. Dean had decided to interview another couple whose child had been healed - a couple that had no qualms with telling their story to the numerous publishers in the area - and, as such, Dean was the one in possession of the Impala. Gabriel had opted to stay in his room, forsaking any form of transportation by 'giant hunks of metal.' Instead, he'd reluctantly agreed to ask for interviews over the phone. Sam and Dean had made a bet to see if he'd actually do it or not. Sam, naturally, was the one rooting for the Archangel.

The Joneses lived in an apartment complex on Lexington Avenue, a few blocks west of the Hilton. Like most of the buildings in the area, it rose into the sky, a towering pillar of concrete, steel, and glass. Sam briefly wondered why such skyscrapers were so intimidating to him, until his brain merrily informed him of the creatures he'd seen that reached such heights. The ones with multiple wings and arms, too-bright light, and fire for blood.

He shrugged off the sensation and memories that revelation brought with it and parted ways with his driver. Making his way up to the fourteenth floor, a suitcase that was full of false notes and notepads in hand, Sam reminded himself that he was here to find out about a creature that wasn't what he remembered from the Cage.

He knocked on the door to the Joneses apartment. A muffled voice from within told him to hold on a minute. Aware of the peep hole, Sam put on a pleasant smile, even though he was pretty sure he was too tall for that to matter. After a few seconds, the sound of a lock being turned reached his ears, and then the door opened as far as the door chain would allow. Sam's eyes immediately fell to spot Makayla peering up at him through the crack.

His smile brightened. She looked healthy enough. Her dark eyes were bright, not something he'd expect to see on someone still sick or falling sick again. The yellow, floral bandana wrapped around her small head was the only hint that something had ever been wrong. Despite the safety precautions she was taking with the man at her front door, she didn't seem too suspicious or worried of him.

"Hi!" Sam greeted cheerfully. "I called your mother earlier. I'm here to interview -"

The door snapped shut, leaving Sam to pout in confusion. He opened his mouth to try and plead with the young girl, but when she called for her mother, Sam figured out what was going on. Well, at least Makayla knew not to open the door for strangers. That was good.

He listened to the sound of someone bigger, Aliyah, walking to the door. The door chain slid back. This time when the door creaked open, Aliyah was blocking it. Sam kept his smile as she gave him the once over, bottom lip slightly pursed out in judgment. Before he could say anything, she nodded and stepped back, pushing the door to open more and let him in.

"So, you the boy that's writing a book about weird happenings, huh?" She asked conversationally, though she knew the answer. "Sam, wasn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied, taking a few tentative steps into the apartment.

It wasn't too spacious. The living room was about the size of his room at the Hilton. The kitchen was connected to it with hardly any separation, just an island counter that was currently being used for food preparation. It was a little late for lunch, in his opinion, but what did he know of this family's eating habits? He didn't skip over the fact that a lot of boxes were piled up in the corner next to the entertainment center. They made him wonder if Aliyah planned on moving.

"Oh, don't 'ma'am' me," Aliyah chided as she stepped farther into the apartment, "I ain't much older than you. What are you, twenty-eight?"

Sam chuckled lightly, following, "Thirty-one."

"Well, then I really ain't that much older than you. Not gonna tell you just _how_ old, though. I like to keep that secret to myself."

Sam smiled good-naturedly. It was nice to know that, no matter how much Aliyah and her daughter had been through, she still had her sense of humor. Even so, she seemed haggard. It was in her face, especially around her eyes. Sam didn't doubt why. Stress weighs on a soul, and she seemed far too old for her age.

He waited politely in the living room, awkwardly towering above everything, and scanned the apartment for Makayla. He couldn't see her, so he assumed she'd probably retreated to her bedroom.

Aliyah walked into the kitchen, turned off the boiling pot on the stove, and then made her way back. She made to sit on the brown couch up against the wall, so Sam steered himself towards the same-colored recliner next to it.

"Alright, _Sam_, whaddya wanna know?" Aliyah questioned, flopping lazily onto her couch and leaning back like she had no worries. "I assume it's the same damn thing every other reporter's asked. 'How did it happen?' 'How did the doctor's react?' 'How long she been sick?' 'Would you consider it a miracle?'"

"Something like that," he replied, sympathetic. "I'm not trying to pry too far into your personal life, Mrs. Jones. I'm more interested in what happened shortly before the tumor disappeared. If there was anything that might hint as to how it happened?"

Aliyah snorted, "You don't know anything about brain cancer, do ya?"

"In theory," Sam answered truthfully. "But that's not the same as living through it, or with it."

Aliyah studied him again. He understood what she was doing. She was judging him, making sure he wasn't some asshole reporter that would strip her raw to get to a good story. She must have seen something in Sam that made her think otherwise, for she relaxed a little. Leaning forward, closer to Sam, she started to explain.

"There was no hint. None whatsoever. For nearly three years my baby girl'd been battling a tumor that just would not stop growing. No matter how many harmful chemicals the doctors pumped into her body, they wouldn't kill it. I had to watch as she damn near wasted away to nothing, and there was nothin' I could do to stop it."

Sam had the decency to cringe at Aliyah's story and the tears welling up in her eyes. Despite the pain she was reliving, her voice rarely cracked with her emotion.

"I threw money at them - my husband's life insurance payout that I'd been savin' for Makayla to go to school - and it didn't even make a _dent._" She chuckled darkly, "And now I gotta move because I can't afford this place _and_ the hospital bills. Hospital bills for procedures that amounted to nothing."

At the sound of a door shutting, Sam drew his gaze away from Aliyah. Makayla stepped out of the hallway leading into the back of the apartment and came towards them. Sam watched her take a seat beside her mother. Aliyah nodded to her.

"You clean your room?"

"Yeah," Makayla replied, though her attention was on Sam. "Is he Sam?"

Sam frowned at the question, suddenly apprehensive. He hadn't told Makayla his name when she'd answered the door, and she hadn't been around when Aliyah had spoken it. Maybe Aliyah had told her before he'd arrive, though? He hoped.

Aliyah cut her eyes to glance at him then looked back to Makayla, "Baby, you know it's not polite to eavesdrop."

"I know that," Makayla whined. "I didn't eavesdrop, Mama. He just looks like what the angel told me."

Aliyah inhaled sharply at the same time a feeling of dread washed over Sam. Great. Just lovely. Yet another 'angel' knowing who he was, where he was, and probably what he was doing. No, that wasn't _terrifying_. Should he be worried? He was worried.

"Uh," Sam stammered, looking to Aliyah.

"What'd I tell you about mentionin' the angel?" She whispered harshly. Then she hesitated, "What d'ya mean he looks like what the angel told you? You didn't tell me about any of that."

Makayla shrugged her little shoulders, unphased by her mother's distress. She began to kick her heels against the bottom of the sofa.

"You told me not to mention the angel," she replied with all the innocence of a child.

"Don't be smart. And stop kicking the couch."

Makayla stopped.

"What angel?" Sam questioned.

"No angel," Aliyah replied, defensive. "Look, now's a bad time. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"Mrs. Jones, I'm here _because_ of the angel. I need to know what you, or your daughter, can tell me about them. There's been other healings - "

Makayla grinned, her teeth in stark contrast to her dark skin, "See! Told ya he was Sam. He's too tall not to be."

Sam frowned at that. Of all the descriptors some creature going around pretending to be an angel could give a little girl, they _had_ to pick out his height. Smooth move.

Aliyah sighed. She doubled over to put her head in her hands. After she'd composed herself, she picked her head up and held up a finger at him.

"You're not gonna mention a word of this in your book, ya got me? Or I _will_ hunt you down. I don't need my daughter's reputation being dragged through the mud, and I definitely don't need a bunch of fanatics showing up at my door. 'Cause I can't give them the answers they're lookin' for, just like I can't give 'em to you."

Sam shrugged harmlessly and held up his hands. "I just wanna know about the angel. Like I said, there's been a lot of healings around here, but there's also been some accidents, and I want to make sure they don't want to hurt someone."

Makayla snorted, "She doesn't wanna hurt anyone. Angels don't hurt people."

Sam held back his, 'Well, technically,' in favor of asking, "She?"

"Yeah!" Makayla exclaimed happily. "The angel was a black lady! I was surprised, 'cause a lot of paintings and stuff have angels being white, but I always wanted a black one that was like Mama, so - "

"Honey, I don't think he wants to know about that," Aliyah interrupted quietly, uncomfortable.

Sam smiled politely, "I'm glad the angel was what you wanted. Can you tell me what the angel did?"

Makayla shrugged, "Got rid of my cancer, or so everybody says. I just woke up in the hospital room, and she was standing beside my bed, and she said it was gonna be okay and that there was gonna be this _really_ tall guy named Sam that was gonna show up lookin' for her. I'm supposed to tell you that she's not gonna hurt anybody, so you don't have to hunt her down. Why do you wanna hunt an angel, mister?"

Sam floundered under the suddenly judgmental glare of an eight-year-old.

"Uh. I'm not- I'm not _hunting_ the angel..."

"You said there's been accidents," Aliyah spoke up, voice unsure and suspicious. "What sorta accidents?"

"I don't think I can tell you about those without... Let's just say angels aren't the only things out there."

Aliyah's eyes hardened, "Should I be worried?"

"That something'll come after you and Makayla? No, I don't think so. Nothing's happened to any of the other people healed by this angel. It's just..._bad_ people that the accidents happened to. Really bad people. Plus, with you moving..."

Aliyah nodded after a moment. "Y'know? About a month ago, if anybody'd told me any of this was going to happen, I would've called them a fool. Along with a few other names I can't say. Because I'd given up hope. Makayla... Makayla was getting _worse_, the doctors couldn't do anything... And so I'd prayed. Haven't been to church for years, and yet I still got on my knees and I prayed. Never woulda thought, in a million years, it'd work as good as it did."

"So, you _did_ pray?" Sam asked, knowing the question would probably seem stranger than their meeting already was. "This is gonna sound weird, but: Did you pray to any particular angel?"

Aliyah looked at him skeptically, but answered, "Like I said: I used to go to church. Only angel I know of that focuses on kids is Gabriel."

* * *

Six minutes after Sam had left the Joneses apartment complex, he found himself on 2nd Avenue. He'd chosen to walk back to the hotel, instead of taking a cab. He needed to clear his head. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on. A walk was better for him than sitting in the back of a taxi.

He'd nearly left his briefcase behind, he'd been so confuddled by what Aliyah had told him.

Gabriel. She'd prayed to _Gabriel_. Only, Gabriel hadn't had his ears on. Not according to what he said the night before. Not only that, but Gabriel had been stuck with them for well over a month. Before that? Metatron. No way he could've been the Gabriel to heal Makayla, as her recovery had happened only weeks ago. So, the question was: What was going around picking up Gabriel's slack?

Sam came to a stop at the corner of an intersection. He barely paid attention to the other commuters walking around him as they continued on their journey.

A better question was: How _long_ had this creature been picking up Gabriel's slack? Or did it just hear any prayer, and the Gabriel thing was a coincidence? He didn't know. He'd have to wait for Dean to get back from his interview and ask him about it. He certainly didn't want to have to ask Gabriel for _his_ input. The last thing Sam wanted to do was alert the Archangel that something might've stolen his identity. Sam wasn't sure how Gabriel would take it - if he'd be helpful, or if he'd scornfully dig his heels into the mud.

"You lost?" A man's voice asked from somewhere near his right elbow.

"What?" Sam questioned in turn, looking down to spot a well-dressed businessman with tanned skin.

"You've been standing here, staring off into space, for a while now. Of course, 'a while' around here is anything longer than a few seconds. I take it you're not from around here?"

Sam laughed anxiously. He hadn't realized he stuck out so much. Though, it made sense. People in the city were always moving, it seemed like. Sam was the only one standing still.

"No," he answered with a small smile. "I was just thinking."

"A dangerous pastime," the stranger teased, and the words tickled the back of Sam's mind with their familiarity. The man nodded towards the underpass nearby, drawing Sam's attention to it. "Used to be a church there, y'know?"

Sam frowned, not quite sure why the man felt the need to tell him that. Then again, since he'd pegged Sam as the tourist he was, maybe he was just showing him the sights? Even if the sights weren't there to be seen, technically.

"Really?" He asked. "What happened to it? It burn down?"

"Ha! Wouldn't that be a reasonable way to go?" The man countered. He shook his head, "No. It was demolished. To make way for that road that goes right under our feet. Didn't even last a hundred years, but it was beautiful. Gothic revival. Tall steeple and high, arching ceiling." He smirked, "'They paved paradise and put up a parking lot,' you could say."

Sam snorted, "Guess 'you don't what ya got 'til it's gone.'"

The stranger grinned at the continued reference.

"What was the church's name?" Sam asked, a thought creeping up in his mind.

The grin lessened to a knowing smile, an almost mischievous one. "St. Gabriel's."

The name wasn't as shocking as it should have been, his mind already creating theories about the connection and what they were dealing with. It was the smile that confused Sam. Like the stranger was in on a joke that Sam didn't know. He often encountered such smiles with Gabriel - the _real_ Gabriel. He opened his mouth to address the stranger, though he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say. However, before he could get a word out, his phone rang.

Sam looked down at his pocket. Quickly, he switched the briefcase to his left hand, and then fumbled for his phone. When he pushed the answer button and brought the phone to his ear, he looked up, only to find the stranger gone. That uncomfortable feeling he'd felt at the Joneses' struck him again.

"Dean."

"Hey, Sam. Any luck? Because I've got some information that don't make a lick of sense, and you ain't gonna like it."

"Gabriel?"

Dean was silent for a second. "You, too?"

"Yeah. Aliyah Jones prayed to Gabriel, saying he was- _she _was the only angel that dealt with children. Given the gender of the angel, I assumed she was Catholic. Said she hasn't been to church for a few years, though."

"Hunh. The Clarks' Gabriel was male. Are we dealing with more than one - ?"

"No. I think we're dealing with something that shifts," Sam answered as he began to hurriedly walk back towards the hotel.

"What like a shapeshifter? That makes no sense."

"No, I mean like how _Gabriel_ shifts. He was that guy at the diner. He was Dr. Sexy. He was that cop."

"Okay, but why do you think that?"

"Because I think I just ran into what we're hunting... Or,_ they_ ran into _me_."

Dean's demand of, "What?" was more protective than it was anything.

"I'm walking back to the hotel. Don't ask, I just wanted the exercise. Anyway, as I was walking back, this dude shows up and randomly informs me that a St. Gabriel's church used to be around here, and that it was demolished. Then, he gave me this _look_. Like... I don't know, like he knew who I was? Or why I was asking what the church's name was?"

"Could just be a coincidence?"

"Except that the daughter, Makayla Jones, was told by this 'Gabriel' that I would be coming. And that I was 'hunting' Gabriel."

"Shit. _You_ you, or just a hunter?"

"No, _me_. Sam. The damn thing even knew what I looked like. It knew we'd come here. That I'd be the one to go to the Joneses. ...I don't know what the hell we're dealing with, but it can't be a spirit, and it's toying with us. I don't like this."

Dean scoffed, "Yeah, no shit you don't like it. I don't like it, either. If it found you... Maybe Gabriel knows what's up. Problem is: Getting him to help."

"I don't think telling him's a good idea, Dean," Sam muttered, nearly halfway to the hotel.

"...Okay, you got me on that one: Why not?"

"Because what would _you _do if you found out something was going around pretending to be you?" Sam countered.

"Same thing I've done every time that's happened, Sammy. Kill the damn thing." Dean paused before stating, "You don't want to kill the damn thing. The thing that knows the future and probably just waltzed up beside ya for a quick chat. Sam - "

"It hasn't killed anybody!" Sam defended, realizing too late that was probably the incorrect thing to nearly shout on a crowded sidewalk. He walked faster. "Okay, maybe you could count the people the demons were possessing, but we can't know for sure if they weren't burnt out yet, _and... _we've probably killed more people that way, with Ruby's knife, than this thing has. So..."

"Is it a bleeding heart thing, with you, or just a _Gabriel_ thing?"

"Fuck off, Dean, I'm being serious."

"So was I." He sighed, and the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine shut off. "Fine. We won't tell Gabriel his doppleganger's runnin' around. But we _need_ to know what we're dealing with. We'll just...tell him the wrong angel. Fuck, use Michael. People like praying to him, too, right? ...Not that I understand why. Dude was a dick."

Sam resisted the urge to tell Dean that _all_ angels - sans Castiel - were dicks according to Dean. Or that people prayed to Michael because their faiths conveniently left out the flaws in his character. They failed to mention that blind faith in an absent Father could corrupt just as easily as Lucifer's pride.

However, Dean had a point. They _did_ need to know what they were dealing with, regardless if they pursued the creature or not. Just in case, if it ever did turn hostile, Sam and Dean would know what to do.

"Right. Okay. Pretend it's Michael." Sam furrowed his brow, remembering something. "What if the people Gabriel called mentioned, y'know, praying to Gabriel?"

"Then you're shit out of luck." A car door slammed. "I highly doubt Gabriel did his homework, though. I'm at the garage, I'll be back at the Hilton asap. And I'll make sure to watch out for any weird occurrences along the way."

Sam said his good-byes almost on autopilot. He hadn't thought about Gabriel calling other witnesses. Oh, that was not a good thing. At least, he didn't think it was. For once, he really hoped Dean was right about Gabriel. Even if whatever they were digging into was creepy, moreso than some of the other creepy things they'd dealt with in the past, that didn't mean it warranted destruction. Sam really didn't want Gabriel gunning for something that, as far as he could tell, was only interested in helping people.

He wound up arriving at the Hilton before Dean, though barely. By the time his brother showed up at his door, Sam'd already changed into his regular clothes. A suit shirt and slacks weren't the most comfortable thing to wear in the world. Dean hadn't had the forethought to change, it seemed, and he glowered down at Sam's change of clothes like he should've followed example.

After a brief argument over who'd do the honors of calling the Archangel down to Sam's room, Dean thrust all the responsibility onto Sam with a low blow about their relationship. With a disappointed, peeved glare at Dean, Sam dialed Gabriel's room phone using the one provided in his own.

It hadn't finished ringing the first time before Gabriel answered.

"You rang?" Gabriel cooed.

Sam glanced at Dean, worried, "Uh, yeah. Did you find anything out?"

"Eh. People prayed for miracles, they got 'em. Still kinda upset that this thing can tap into the prayer line, but what can ya do?"

"You didn't ask what angel they prayed to?" Sam questioned, honestly surprised if Gabriel hadn't.

"Y'all very rarely pray to one angel in particular," Gabriel explained. "Some people said me, some people said they were pretty much just shoutin' to the wind, or that they couldn't remember. Pretty much all of them wondered why the hell I wanted to know. I usually hung up after that. Didn't feel like comin' up with an answer."

Sam tried to breathe easier. "Okay, well, both of the families Dean and I interviewed said the same angel came to them."

Gabriel hummed for Sam to go on. Sam once again glanced at Dean, hoping for a way out so he didn't have to be the one to lie to Gabriel about...Gabriel. Dean rolled his eyes and stepped closer.

"Yeah, they claimed it was Michael!" Dean yelled, louder than he needed to, causing Sam to cringe.

"Michael? That makes no sense. He's not a healer, he's a fighter. If they'd prayed for retribution on those demons, _that_ woulda made sense, but - "

"Not everyone knows that," Sam mumbled quietly, uncomfortable.

Gabriel acted like he didn't hear him, continuing, "Though, if the creature thought they were Michael, and Michael bein' the Viceroy, that self-important ego coulda transferred over, causing them to answer prayers not necessarily meant for them. _Maybe_."

"Bring up the morphing thing," Dean commanded as he sat down on the couch, growing bored.

"Morphing thing?" Gabriel inquired.

"Yeah, uh. The angel appeared different to the people we interviewed," Sam explained.

He opted to leave out the possible encounter he'd had with the...whatever. After all, he couldn't be sure. His hunter instincts were screaming at him that, oh, he had _definitely_ been visited by their target, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He didn't want to give Gabriel false information. No more than he already had, anyway. He was feeling guilty enough as it was.

"Makes me think it's not a misguided spirit we're dealing with."

"No," Gabriel agreed. "Did they look like how the person imagined Michael to?"

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I think they did. Makayla mentioned something about that." Sam took a deep breath, "You think we're dealing with a tulpa?"

"Tulpa?" Dean spoke up. He reached for the remote. "How's that work? I thought they only answered to the person that created them. Or persons, like with ol' Mordecai. Plus, aren't they stuck around the area of their creation? This one's been in all over the place."

"Depends," Sam heard Gabriel say. "On how old it is, and how many people are pouring their thoughts into it. Michael's prolly the most known Archangel outta all of us. I'd be surprised if a tulpa spawned of him, but I'm not gonna say it's impossible."

"Y'know, if he'd just get off his merry little ass and walk down here, I could hear the juicy, _important_ tidbits of information he's telling you, too," Dean complained.

"Yeah, no can do. I'm on vacation," Gabriel countered. "And not for as long as I'da hoped, when I tell y'all my next 'tidbit of information.'"

"And what's that?" Sam asked. He frowned, "Also: How can you hear him?"

"Angel. As I was sayin': May as well pack up your bags and head home, boys. You can't kill this thing, if it is a tulpa, and that's my best bet. No matter how it was created, if it's being powered by all the belief poured into Michael... It's pretty _immortal_."

"Because there's no lore, really, on how to kill Michael," Sam stated.

"Bingo. The majority doesn't know about Archangel blades or holy fire. And if this thing thinks it's Michael? You_ really_ don't want to get on its bad side. Think of all those paintings and statues of him stepping on Luci with a spear."

Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, no, that wouldn't be that great. Alright, I'll tell Dean. Try to get him to give you a few more days vacation, anyway."

"If anyone's getting more vacation days, it's _me,_" Dean shouted at him, no doubt trying to dig at Gabriel.

"Aw, you two are so sweet!" Gabriel mocked cheerfully. "Catch ya later. You know where I'm at if you need me. Bye, Sam!"

The line clicked as Gabriel hung up. Sam placed the phone back on the receiver, less tense than when he'd called. So, he'd dodged the bullet with Gabriel. For now. Maybe. He'd tell him who the tulpa was _really_ impersonating _after_ they got back to Lebanon. Because, then, Gabriel wouldn't be too keen on driving all the way back just to kick its ass. If he even could, that is.

Of course, now he realized there was the possibility the tulpa could kick _Gabriel's_ ass. If the tulpa was immortal, with all the power people thought Gabriel to have...

"You gonna share with the rest of the class?" Dean asked, only half paying attention to the television.

"So. Tulpa. According to Gabriel. Says that, depending on how old it is and if it thinks it's... _Gabriel_, then we're wasting our time. It'll probably have all the strengths people think Gabriel to have, and none of the weaknesses we know him to have."

Dean scoffed as Sam took a seat on the end of his bed.

"Great. One I can't kill because you _like_ him, and the other I can't kill because millions of people don't think he can die. What happens if this thing kills someone _not_ a demon, huh? Decides to go off on some crusade because of some extremist asshole in the neighborhood? What're we to do?"

Sam shrugged helplessly, "Nothing? I don't think we can trap the tulpa same way we could Gabriel. Not with holy fire. ...Forcing it to Fall could be an option, but. _How?_ Doesn't that have to be a willing-to-sin thing?"

"Hell if I know. I'm not the religious one, here."

Sam looked down at his hands.

They couldn't do anything. Not that he could think of. He'd wanted to leave the creature - the tulpa - alone from the beginning, but knowing that the tulpa was probably invincible was unsettling. For reasons similar to what Dean had brought up.

He didn't like being unable to do something.

* * *

He didn't like being unable to do something. He'd spent the rest of the day, after Dean had gone back to his room, mulling over all the information he'd gathered. He ran over what Makayla had told him, what Gabriel had told him, and he even dredged up what he remembered from the Mordecai case. He thought about the possible encounter he'd had on the street. The taunting, knowing smile that had been similar to and different from Gabriel's all at the same time.

Sam was being toyed with. That's what it felt like. And if the tulpa was more prone to toying with him than getting self-righteous and defensive, then maybe Sam could approach it not as a hunter but as a Man of Letters. It made sense to him, so he pushed himself off his bed, where he'd been stretched out as he stared at his ceiling, and went for his laptop.

The tulpa, this false Gabriel, responded to prayers. Earnest ones, of course, but prayers nonetheless. It might show if he prayed to it. Problem was, Gabriel might come instead. Both might come. That wouldn't be good. So, how to summon a false Gabriel while blocking out the real one?

The answer most likely lay in the protective sigils used to prevent angels from entry.

After a little over an hour of searching the internet, Sam thought he had what he needed: All the information he could find over the Archangel as he was considered to be by the different religions. He needed to know what he'd be up against, what might gain the tulpa's favor and what might set it off. Gabriel, as he'd come to know him, was an awesome creature of light and sound hiding in the body - his own body - of a short man with honey hair and eyes and a wicked smirk. That wasn't the Gabriel he needed to know for his plan to work.

He just wanted to talk. He wanted to learn about the creature going around thinking it was someone else. His curiosity would probably get the best of him, one day, but he had to know. He had to _do something_. This was the only way he could rest assured that _someone_ had thought to plead with the tulpa not to do anything harmful, to not give them a reason to find a way to destroy it.

The sharpie he kept in his duffle was used to draw a too-familiar sigil on the back of his door. It would bar the real Gabriel from entry. He hated to use it against Gabriel, but he needed to take that precaution. He predicted it wouldn't work against the fake one, since hardly anyone knew true angelic warding.

With that in place, he put away his laptop, turned off his lights, and walked to stand awkwardly at the foot of his bed. He hadn't prayed the 'old-fashioned' way in a long time. The whole elbows-on-bed, knees-on-floor way. Not that he had done it much as a child, either - only when Dean or John were out of the room - but still.

"Right," he told himself, trying to banish thoughts of how ridiculous he felt.

He rubbed his hands against his thighs and then knelt. Clasping his hands in front of him, he closed his eyes. An errant thought reminded him that the real Gabriel was probably going to hear him, and that this prayer was going to be extremely odd and..._weird_, but he silenced it as best he could.

"Gabriel," Sam started, only then realizing he wasn't sure what to say, "I... request to... Okay, no, sorry. That doesn't sound like me at all. Which...you should already know that. Considering the fact that you told Makayla that I would come looking for you. Look, I don't have an emergency. I'm not sick. My brother... Well, I think he's older than a lot of the people you've been healing lately. A lot older. But... I _am_ lost. Regarding you. So, I was wondering if you could show yourself? Just to me. I wanted - "

"You're rusty," a light voice spoke from behind him.

Sam startled, halfway leaping, halfway crawling across the corner of his bed so he could put some distance between himself and what had to be the tulpa. What startled him more was the appearance the thoughtform had taken.

Stereotypical angel. That's what this Gabriel looked like to him. He was taller than the real Gabriel, which was a surprise, though only by a few inches. White skin. Shining blond hair in wavy curls that stopped at his shoulders. A white robe with sky blue sash for contrast.

Sam would've laughed at the vision before him, if he hadn't been so focused on the indigo blue wings the tulpa was sporting.

Oddly enough, the tulpa seemed just as intrigued by them as Sam was. He flexed them forward, gazing at them in curiosity and amusement. When he finally looked up at Sam, it was with an eerily polite smile and nearly silver eyes. 'Clear,' Sam imagined. Devoid of color, more than with. He didn't bring up Sam's gobsmacked expression.

"Blue," the tulpa spoke. "Like in the stained glass portrait of me in that church when you were young. This is the first image that stuck out at you. You liked the contrast of my wings and my hair. And, if I'm correct, my eyes have no color. Because I wasn't looking at the observer. I'm surprised you didn't add the lilies."

"How do you know all that?" Sam asked shakily.

The tulpa's smile only grew.

* * *

**A/N:** Over twelve-thousand words and a week-and-a-half's time is how long it took. Christ almighty. Anyhoo, if you'd like to know about the tulpa's looks within this chapter, drop a line. Any of their looks. I'll bite. Don't forget to review, folks.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Y'all ready for this rollercoaster ride? 'Cuz I sure the hell ain't. Let's do this shit. I think it's worth noting that I had to rewrite – or expound – on about half of this chapter because I simply wasn't happy with it. Dialogue and characters, man. How do? Also, a certain place I mention in this chapter is inspired by a real one. It's not _truly_ that place, but I love being cheeky.

Warning: This chapter contains mentions of something macabre. It's not graphic, but the mention may be disturbing.

Song worth mention: "I Won't Give Up" by Jason Mraz.

* * *

"I'm an angel," the tulpa stated easily, almost as if he were teasing Sam for missing the obvious answer to his question. "Why wouldn't I know about you?"

Sam scoffed lightly in disbelief. Okay. So, here was this creature that clearly had no idea what it truly was, but it was so sure in itself that it could crack a joke like that. Wow. Such a thing was only funny in the sense that it was enormously sad.

Despite Sam's apprehension brought on by the being in his presence, his mind still worked to figure _this_ Gabriel out.

The tulpa's demeanor was cordial enough. He didn't appear to take Sam for a threat, which was a relief. He hadn't moved a step from where he'd appeared. Keeping his distance was nice. Polite. It helped put Sam at ease. The tulpa's wings still moved, however, though in a lazy manner. As if he weren't thinking about them, really, and they just did stuff on their own. Like when someone fidgets unknowingly, Sam thought, and he brieflly wondered if Gabriel – the real one – did the same with his wings. What was left of them, anyway.

The tulpa must have caught him staring, for he soon folded his wings behind his back.

But what did he know, Sam wondered. About the situation. About _Sam_.

He'd known about that old stained-glass image Sam had seen from such a _long_ time ago. One of the many churches his father would come to stop at, to ask for guidance regarding a case while pretending to be a curious civilian wondering what the divine had to offer. Back then, Sam hadn't known the angel to be Gabriel, though. It wasn't until years down the road, studying symbology of various religions, that the lilies he'd seen in the artwork clicked. And maybe it was then that he'd felt particularly nostalgic for the angel. The one who told a woman named Mary that she was going to give birth to a savior.

He'd had no way of knowing that, years later, he'd meet the real thing. That he'd stare down the Angel of Annunciation with half a mind to kill him. He certainly wouldn't have guessed he'd find a way to move past that, or that he'd come to want to sleep with the guy.

Boy, his life was funny like that.

Feeling half-secure beside his bed, Sam decided to pry and see just how much information he could squeeze out of the tulpa. Preferably without shoving his foot in his mouth.

"How'd you know I'd be here?" Sam questioned, making sure to keep his tone polite. "You told Makayla I'd be hunting you. How'd you know that?"

The tulpa raised his head a little and squinted. After a few seconds, Sam clued in that he was being read. He just couldn't tell how _deeply_. Once upon a time, Gabriel's Grace had stated that he was capable of picking up stray, or surface thoughts. But with the way the tulpa stared at him now? Sam got the impression this reading was a tad deeper than he liked.

'Gabriel' eerily reminded Sam of Castiel in that moment, with his judgmental look that wasn't truly meant to be as offensive as it appeared. Weird that a fake angel could look so much like a real one.

"You doubt me," 'Gabriel' stated slowly. "You have faith in me, I can sense it, and yet you doubt me at the same time. Why?"

"Um..."

True answer? The tulpa wasn't real. Not in the way he thought he was. Sam couldn't readily tell him that, now could he? Hell, he couldn't even give it much thought, literally, or risk upsetting 'Gabriel.'

"I asked first," Sam replied instead. He straightened his back to at least pretend he was feeling more confident than he actually was and continued, "You answer my question, and then I'll answer yours. How 'bout that?"

The tulpa smirked in a way that unsettled Sam. It wasn't the same smirk as the one from before, out on the streets of Manhattan. Instead of an inside joke, this one seemed to convey the message that Sam was 'cute' for trying to barter with an Archangel, but not _too_ cute.

Right. He was dealing with a fake Archangel. He should treat him like a real Archangel. Or, a...real fake Archangel? An Archangel that was as people thought Archangels should be, and not the ones Sam and Dean were used to telling to fuck off. Fearful respect is what Sam should be aiming for. No matter how strange that was going to feel.

"You already know I can read you, Sam," the tulpa explained, for a moment causing Sam to worry he'd read _that_ portion of his mind.

He finally took a step forward, and Sam took a step back.

"I know what you and your brother do," the tulpa continued.

Good. He probably hadn't heard the wrong thing yet. If he had, he'd be a lot more pissed. Maybe. Sam let out a small, shaky breath, too unwilling to feel completely relieved. After all, he could still fuck everything up.

"You've been praying to me for years, haven't you? Seeking aid and answers."

Sam frowned. Okay, yes, he had been praying, but not to _Gabriel_. Unless, of course, Sam's prayers worked like the few people Gabriel had mentioned earlier that day. The ones that had, essentially, prayed to the winds. Had his prayers really gone to Gabriel? Or, tried to, only to be redirected to the tulpa? ...Or was the tulpa playing him?

"For so long you've wanted to know why you feel so shunned in this _cruel _world. It's something you've been made to think is weakness." The tulpa took another step and then tilted his head, "Someone's recently told you you 'reek' of it."

Sam immediately diverted his train of thought to something safe. Something random. The Impala. All the science experiments otherwise known as Dean's leftovers that he'd had the misfortune of stumbling upon in many fridges across the nation. Literally anything other than real angels, Gadreel, and certainly not Gabriel.

At the abrupt shift, the tulpa blinked, almost as if he were snapping out of some trance. A faint look of unease, or confusion, passed across his youthful face. Sam got the impression that the tulpa hadn't encountered that many people who knew how to throw off light telepathy. He was probably used to humans being so enraptured and in awe that they never bothered to try.

When the tulpa's gaze sharpened, Sam was unsettled to discover that the fake angel's mood was souring. Too quickly.

"I have more important things to attend to, Sam," he warned. "I came because you're curious, and I felt your underlying worry over something. I wasn't expecting such _hostility_. Why are you challenging me? I told you, through Makayla, that I mean no harm."

Sam took a deep breath, held up his hands, and shook his head vigorously.

"No, no, no. I'm not trying to be hostile - "

Shit. Shit, where was he going wrong this time? The blocking? Had fighting against the tulpa's invasive searching through his memories really been such an affront to him?

"You doubt me. Your questions are like attacks."

Sam panicked. Calmly, but there was still panic. Because, in his earlier research, he was reminded of a story regarding Gabriel. When the Archangel had approached a man named Zechariah, the man had doubted his message, and Gabriel had silenced him for it. At the time, Sam had been reminded of the _real_ Gabriel, when he'd silenced _them_ years ago, and then threatened to do it again. Now, Sam was worried the tulpa would follow in his footsteps.

"I swear- I mean..." He caught himself. Was swearing bad? He couldn't remember. Everything was getting jumbled up in his attempt to save face. "I _promise_: I'm not trying to attack you, or-or disrespect you, or anything like that. I'm just...trying to figure you out. I'm a hunter. You know that. But I'm also something called a Man of Letters, and we - "

"Dig into things you have no business knowing," the tulpa interrupted, his stance relaxing minutely. "I know. I've run into them before."

That stopped Sam in his tracks. His mouth worked as he tried to process the information he'd been given.

It didn't make any sense. If the Men of Letters had run into Gabriel before, even a fake Gabriel, they would've written it down, right? And back when the Horn of Gabriel had been in his possession, Sam had searched everywhere within the Bunker to find out what he could regarding it and the Archangel. They'd had nothing more than what he'd recently dug up on the Internet.

"When?" He breathed. "How come they didn't-"

The tulpa sighed. "It's simple: I _left_ before they could observe me. Angels are known for watching over others without being seen. Why do you think that is?"

Sam relaxed a little. He'd left, then. Hadn't... Hadn't done something like destroy witnesses to keep them from telling the tale of the great 'Archangel Gabriel.' Good.

When Sam relaxed, so did the tulpa. Sam was surprised to see the distrust in the other's eyes morph into something apologetic.

"The urgency I felt in your prayer wasn't based on your desire for knowledge. Why did you call me?"

Before Sam could answer, and almost in the blink of an eye, the tulpa stilled. Sam startled when blue wings flew up into the air, spread out in something that looked like a threat. Only, the display wasn't aimed at _him. _It was aimed at the door, as was the tulpa's glare.

Sam followed the heated gaze and swallowed at the sight of the sigil burning on the back of his door. Gabriel was trying to get in. That was the only explanation it could be.

"Sam," Gabriel's voice carried through the wooden door, and he did not sound pleased. In fact, he was just as threatening as the tulpa. "Open the door."

"Don't," the tulpa warned quietly.

Sam gasped sharply when his view was obstructed by blue. Glancing at the tulpa, Sam realized he was trying to protect him with his wings, bringing them forward in a sort of air hug. The tulpa of Gabriel was trying to protect Sam from the actual Archangel Gabriel. If Sam hadn't been so worried, he would've laughed.

"_Run_," he commanded the tulpa.

"No." The tulpa didn't move. Nor did he look away from the door. "He's not human."

That confused look of the tulpa's came back. Sam didn't know how much the tulpa knew of _real_ angels, but he most definitely had never sensed a _real_ Archangel before. If he had, he most certainly wouldn't be so hostile towards Gabriel. Not without a death wish.

Sam should have never have called him. He'd _known_ it was a bad idea. He'd _known_ it would go sour. He just hadn't_ wanted_ it to.

He'd wanted to know. He'd wanted to see the creature that, according to Gabriel, had four billion people giving it power. Yes, he'd wanted to warn the tulpa of the impending danger that came with sticking around in the town with its namesake and Dean Winchester, but, truly, his curiosity was what had fueled him the most. And he'd arrogantly thought he could keep the _real_ Archangel at bay.

"Sam," Gabriel said again. "Either you open the door, or I remove it from the wall. Your choice."

"Give me a minute!" Sam shouted. At least if he said something, Gabriel might not feel the need to blow a hole into his room.

"_Now_," Gabriel growled so intensely that it scared him.

Sam turned back to the tulpa and pleaded, "Look, just run. I know who he is, what he is. Wouldn't be traveling with him if I thought he was dangerous. Just get the hell out of here right now, because I can't stop him if he goes after you."

The look the tulpa gave him didn't reassure Sam at all. It was something he'd seen before. That pissed-off, self-assured glare people gave when they truly didn't know what they were dealing with. And Sam didn't have the time to warn the guy that neither whatever powers he had nor his determination would save him from a very, very angry Archangel. Going by the tone Gabriel was using, he'd rip the tulpa's wings off as if they were twigs and not think twice about it.

Sam expected the door to burst off its hinges, or to be ripped from the wall as if the Hulk had gotten ahold of it. Instead, even though he still jumped in surprise, all that happened was the door swung open, banged into the wall, and a very upset Dean half-charged, half-fell into the room.

Sam opened his mouth to tell his brother to stand down. He couldn't see Dean fully, not with the curtain of feathered blue shielding him, but he knew his brother. He knew the misinterpretation that would take place. He knew Dean wouldn't charge into a dangerous situation without his gun drawn, or an angel blade. Whatever weapon he wielded, if he made a move to strike the tulpa, they were all screwed.

But it wasn't his brother he should've been warning.

The wind from the tulpa's wings was all he felt, followed by a loud thudding noise. Sam rocked slightly in place. He glanced sharply at the flailing tulpa pinned to the wall across from him, wings flapping erratically as he roared in rage - or perhaps it was panic - and filled the air with small feathers. The TV and a lamp lay busted against the walls. If the tulpa kept struggling, the coffee table or the window nearby might be the next to go.

"Or I could just let Dean do it," Gabriel said flippantly as he stepped into the room, though the scowl on his face gave away how truly livid he was to be staring down the creature masquerading as him.

Sam quickly stumbled towards the tulpa, holding his arms out towards Dean and Gabriel, as if that would calm the situation faster.

"Michael, huh!" Gabriel shouted as he turned his glare to Sam. "Funny, I think I remember hearing _my name_ in that prayer."

"Gabriel, drop him," Sam begged, ignoring the well-placed fury directed at him. "He's not a threat."

"Uh, Sammy. He was less than three feet from you with his wings raised - " Dean tried to argue. Sure enough, in his hands was his pistol, and it was pointed at the tulpa.

"To _protect me, _Dean," Sam replied hastily, voice high from the stress. He turned a glare onto Gabriel. "Drop. Him. _Please, _Gabriel."

"Gabriel?" Sam heard the tulpa demand from over his shoulder. The wing beats stopped. "Why do you refer to this creature as me?"

Shit. He couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell the tulpa why. Not now. Not with so much tension in the room and Gabriel looking downright murderous. It wasn't the environment for it. He wouldn't be taken seriously. His words would only be met with denial and suspicion. The tulpa had already accused him of attacking him by _doubting_ him. To flat out say... Besides, he didn't have the _time_.

Unfortunately, Gabriel didn't share the same worries.

"Because _I'm_ Gabriel," he bit. "Y'know, the guy you're going around pretendin' to be?"

Sam flinched.

A tense, eerie silence filled the room as Sam slowly lowered his arms in defeat to his sides.

Then came the sound of the walls groaning.

Sam had yet to turn around, too focused on Gabriel's face, so he didn't see what the tulpa did. All he saw was Gabriel's glare morph into a look of surprise.

Suddenly, Gabriel was jerked back, thrown off his feet. Sam cried out in shock. Dean nearly dove onto the bed to avoid Gabriel as he went sailing past.

Gabriel grunted as he hit a corner in the wall, limbs ragdolling briefly before the force that had him pinned him even tighter in place. He snarled, lip curling, but no further attack was thrown at him.

Regaining his composure, Dean stood and aimed his gun at the tulpa again, this time with his finger on the trigger.

"Dean!" Sam shouted at him.

Everything was dissolving into chaos, and much too fast for Sam to do anything to stop it. He took another step to further position himself between the tulpa and everyone else. Dean wouldn't shoot him. The tulpa wasn't after _him._ Gabriel -

Both Dean and Sam cried out as energy screeched around the room, racing across random surfaces and objects in streaks of blue and yellow. The room quivered at the power being exerted against it. Within seconds, that power had filled the room. Glass and fragile things shattered, causing Dean and Sam to instinctively crouch down towards the floor to shield themselves from flying debris.

Darkness enveloped the room. Such an all encompassing darkness, and _stillness, _that Sam briefly wondered if he'd been accidentally killed in whatever crossfire had just taken place in his hotel room.

But then came the sounds of the city, especially that of honking horns. Two thuds followed as feet hit the ground. Glass clinked together as he and Dean chanced to raise their heads. A small amount of light peeked in through the shattered window in the room, and with it Sam could just make out Dean's shape in front of him.

The power was out. _Everywhere_. The whole city was dark.

"Alright," Gabriel spoke, drawing Sam's attention. Sam could barely make him out, but he was definitely on his feet again. "You wanna play with the big boys?"

Gabriel snapped – for who else would snap? – and, suddenly, the lights were back on. Sam flinched as his eyes failed to adjust to the rapid change of light. Blinking away the pain, Sam noticed the room was back to the way it was before. The familiar, nagging feeling of glass along his collar was gone.

Gabriel's blade slipped into his palm. His eyes were focused behind Sam, focused on the tulpa. Though, now, the temper within them was subdued. Gabriel's blind rage had morphed into something else, something almost apprehensive yet no less dangerous. It was cold and calculating.

This time, Sam stayed where he was. Getting in the way had been a foolish idea. He shouldn't step between giants.

Still, Sam glanced back at the tulpa, wishing he would take flight while he still could.

The tulpa seemed pissed. Or, rather, righteously furious. If Sam had to guess, he'd never been challenged before. Not the way Gabriel was challenging him. And, from the look on his face, he was willing to bite. It made Sam cringe.

"Stop," he breathed helplessly.

"Nooo," Gabriel drawled. "He wants to fight? Let him. Come on, _little Gabriel_. You're an Archangel, aren't you? I'm a threat! Be that weapon you were designed to be. _I dare ya._"

The tulpa snarled, wings spread and raised behind him, and flicked his hand at his side just as Gabriel had done a moment before. Instead of an angel blade appearing in his hand, however, a small sickle formed with a burst of light.

It appeared to be made of iron. Definitely not something he would consider an effective weapon against whatever the hell it was that angel blades were made up of. However, the sigils carved into the blade made Sam wonder. He looked back at Gabriel.

He was surprised to find him perturbed, staring at the sickle as if he recognized it.

"Where did you get that?" Gabriel inquired.

His tone of voice gave him away. He wasn't as calm as he pretended to be. He was _worried_ about that sickle.

"_It's mine_," the tulpa stressed. "As is the name you claim I _stole_."

"Oh, trust me, I'm not the thief here. And I know exactly where you got that sickle from. See, it was mine, too, until - "

The tulpa roared at Gabriel and, with a flap of his wings, launched himself at him.

Sam yelled in panic, barely moving an inch in a pitiful attempt to grab ahold of the tulpa.

He had to stop him. Not just for the tulpa's sake, but Gabriel's as well. He didn't trust the weapon in the tulpa's hands. Something was off about it. Not many things could truly spook Gabriel.

He didn't make it further than that inch. A wing intentionally buffeted him out of the way, and he fell back to the floor with a soft grunt.

Dean's gun clicked. No doubt his brother had pulled the trigger. Yet, the ever familiar sound of a gunshot never came. Such an oddity was immediately ignored by Sam in favor of frantically trying to regain his bearings. He pushed himself up from where he lay on the floor to look over his shoulder.

Gabriel's blade collided with the sickle that was aimed for his head. The screeching sound that resulted, as the metal of each weapon grinded against each other, caused both Sam and Dean to cringe. It was unearthly; worse than nails on a chalkboard.

Expertly, Gabriel twisted. The force the tulpa had used to press the sickle down towards Gabriel backfired. His arm and body fell forward, allowing Gabriel to sidestep. Grabbing the arm holding the sickle, Gabriel wrenched it behind the tulpa's back, while he used his other hand to take hold of the tulpa's neck and slam him face first into the wall.

The tulpa grunted and tried to smack Gabriel off of him with the wing Gabriel had pushed himself against. The anatomy of the wing wouldn't allow him to, however, and when he looked back at Gabriel, Sam recognized fear in his expression.

"Gabriel..."

Though he'd meant the Archangel, the tulpa was the one that glanced at him. In those silver eyes, Sam saw the confusion the tulpa had. He wanted help. He was afraid, thrown off-kilter by everything, and he was looking towards the person who'd thrown him into chaos. The one person he thought could help.

Guilt nearly punched the air out of Sam.

"_Listen_ to me," Gabriel commanded into the squirming tulpa's ear. "I know you got a lot of faith in what you are buzzing around in that little head o' yours, and I hate to burst your merry little fantasy, but I gotta ask you somethin': When was the last time you were in Heaven?"

The tulpa bared his teeth at Gabriel, looking like he wanted to retort, but then he paused. Gabriel's odd words sunk in. The fear and anger on the tulpa's face slowly melted away into an eerily blank look - a thousand yard stare that showed he was trying to remember.

Sam saw Dean glance at him from the corner of his eye, so he glanced back. Dean was tense, hand gripping his useless pistol tightly, but his scowl pointed to him being confused more than anything. His brother mouthed, 'What the hell is he doing?' and Sam didn't know how to tell him. How do you accurately portray destroying something's entire reality? Sam settled for lifelessly yanking an invisible rug. Naturally, Dean only grew more confused.

"Hmm?" Gabriel continued, ignoring everything else in the room. "When was the last time you stood in the presence of God? When was the last time you saw _any other angel?_ What are your orders? Where's your _horn_, Little Boy Blue?"

'Gabriel' stilled. His eyes were still distant, but the way his brow furrowed made it clear that he'd heard what was said to him. It was also clear that he didn't have the answers. His mouth worked to try and answer Gabriel, but nothing would come out. The fear was creeping its way back into his eyes, and Sam feared it would lead to further panic.

Sam scowled. Enough was enough. He pushed himself from the floor, ignored Dean's quiet squawk of protest, and took the few steps he needed to reach Gabriel and the tulpa. With a glare, he grabbed Gabriel's right wrist and forcefully pulled it away from where it was holding the tulpa's arm against his back.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, no doubt worried Sam was going to do something to get himself killed.

Gabriel jerked his attention away from the tulpa and focused intense eyes on Sam. His look was both a question and a warning. A sort of, 'What do you want?' combined with, 'Do you really want to challenge _me?' _gaze.

Sam glared down at him, jaw clenched. Before, long before, when they'd first met the Trickster, when they'd first discovered they were dealing with an _Archangel_, that look might've worked. It might've made Sam hesitant and force him to question himself. But now? Unfortunately for Gabriel, Sam knew him. He knew _exactly_ what he was dealing with, and he also knew that Gabriel was all puff and no blow with his threat.

After a moment, not taking his eyes off Sam, Gabriel opened his left hand.

The tulpa vanished. Unlike with angels, there was no sound of wingbeats. He was simply gone.

Tense silence fell upon the room as Sam continued to glare at Gabriel. Gabriel frowned in annoyance, but he didn't back down either. Regardless, Sam released his wrist.

"Alright," Dean began as he pushed himself to his feet, "will you two knock it off and, _please,_ tell me what the fuck is going on? Because I was quite comfortable catching a few z's in my own room, until Lordy McSmiterson over here barges in like he's about roast my ass. Says you summoned the tulpa."

"I did," Sam stated calmly, continuing his stare off with Gabriel.

"Oh, _well_, then. _Why?_"

"Wanted to warn him."

"About _what!_"

"Us!" Sam shouted back, raising his arms to gesture all of them. "The 'apes' with our guns and-and our - " he gestured to Gabriel's sword, " - swords, and our kill first ask questions later mentality! We wreck every-fucking-thing that we touch that we don't know anything about, and I'm sick of it!"

Sam's outburst surprised even himself. Dean couldn't seem to make up his mind whether or not he was worried for Sam or pissed at him. Gabriel's stare, however, lost some of its edge. Sam didn't miss how his shoulders relaxed and his head tilted back minutely.

"Sam," Dean began slowly, "when I came in here, he looked like a monster."

"Everything looks like a monster to you, Dean," Sam replied with a sad shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders. "No offense, I get that's how we were raised, but that's not how it really is."

Dean's scowl came back. "Not everything wants to be your friend, Sam. ...It really is a Gabriel thing, with you, isn't it?"

"No! I-! Dammit, Dean!"

"Point still stands, dude. He looked threatening. Hell, he _was_ threatening! He tried to lop Gabriel's head off! I had every right to try and shoot his ass. I woulda shot his ass if he hadn't mojo'd my gun into not firing."

"No, that was me," Gabriel spoke up, seemingly unperturbed by the argument.

Dean gave him a deadpan look. Sam frowned. At two pairs of questioning eyes, Gabriel rolled his and sighed.

"Look, I had him, alright? As much as I don't appreciate using myself as bait to keep the two o' you from eating it, occasionally, it has to be done. You fire at that guy? He's not gonna like you. You don't want him as your enemy, Dean-o. Believe me."

Dean shook his head, "Then why the hell did you drag me down here, if you didn't want me helping you take the guy out?"

Gabriel smiled sardonically, "Because I was hoping you'd drag Sam outta here and _to safety_, but apparently you missed that memo."

Sam's fists clenched at his sides. He locked his jaw just to keep from saying anything. They'd only ignore him, anyway. Just like they were doing now. Deep down, he understood. They were worried when they'd burst through his door. But he'd tried to explain to them, and they'd dismissed him. They'd kept after the tulpa, even after Sam had tried to step between them. It pissed him off to hear them, now, continue to talk as if he'd needed saving.

Dean looked oddly guilty at Gabriel's accusation, but he didn't stay that way for long.

"Right. Well, now what? We got a pissed off tulpa running around with a fuckin' scythe and no way to kill it."

"He's not angry," Sam practically growled. "Gabriel did a good job of making him _terrified_. Don't think we need to kill something that can't tell up from down or left from right anymore. _Right_, Gabriel?"

Cold eyes focused back on him. Gabriel hadn't liked Sam's tone, and Sam didn't care. However, there was a hint of acknowledgment in his amber eyes that shocked Sam.

"You're right," Gabriel admitted, further throwing Sam off. "I probably coulda handled that better. But - and hate me all you want, Sam – it _needed_ to be done."

"No. It didn't. Not now. Not like that."

Gabriel shrugged a shoulder, "If not now, then when? He's not an Archangel. He's not even an angel. And if Castiel and his squad can pick up on the miracles the tulpa's workin'? So can others. You say you prayed to him because you wanted him to stay out of harm's way, right? How much trouble do you think he's gonna find himself in if he keeps curing kids of cancer and smiting demons, huh? Supernatural and human alike?"

Sam frowned, lips pressed together. Gabriel wasn't wrong. Sam hated it, but Gabriel wasn't wrong. Still, there must've been an easier way to break the news. Something to say that wouldn't spook the tulpa until the point he became a potential powder keg.

Of course, they'd never know now.

"This is cute. Really, guys." Dean snarked. "I'm glad we care so much about this fake Archangel's feelings. But, I'd like to point out: Just because he's _afraid,_ instead of _pissed,_ doesn't put us in any less danger. What if he comes back demanding answers and decides to beat them out of us? Or -"

Gabriel turned his head to address Dean.

"Stay here. Sam'll stay in my room."

"What?" Sam asked. "Why?"

"In the event he does exactly what Dean's talking about."

Dean scoffed, "So, what? I'm the bait now?"

"You're not the one he's interested in. He won't come for _you_."

* * *

Sam glared at everything in Gabriel's room with the same amount of intensity as he'd glared at the back of the Archangel's head the entire trek up to said room. He didn't feel great about leaving Dean on his own, but he had to admit, once again, Gabriel had a point. Dean wouldn't be the one the tulpa came for. If anyone, he'd come after Sam. He'd come for the person who'd led him into a trap.

However, Sam didn't like the witness protection he'd been unwillingly put under, and he certainly was in no mood to deal with Gabriel.

Gabriel's room wasn't that much different from his own, except the sheets on the bed were nearly scarlet. Sam had a sneaking suspicion they hadn't come that way. He folded his arms as he stood in the middle of the room and turned from the bed to face Gabriel.

"Well?" He prompted irritably.

"Calm down, Sam," Gabriel answered as he toed off his shoes beside the dresser.

"I am calm."

"No, you're angry. In fact, you're pissed and dispirited. And, hey, I get it. But you need to get _me_, Sam."

Sam's eyes trailed after Gabriel as he walked over to his bed and plopped down onto the foot of it. He looked up at Sam with none of the challenge or annoyance from earlier. In fact, he looked serious and understanding.

Despite his best efforts to remain just as Gabriel had described him, Sam found himself interested in what the Archangel had to say. He told himself that it was because Gabriel very rarely discussed anything seriously.

"You lied to me."

Gabriel's eyes had a tiredness to them that Sam also felt, and that realization caused him to shift awkwardly, dropping both arms and eyes under the other's stare.

"Of course, I've lied to you, too, so I'm not gonna hold that against ya. Call it even, I guess. But... Sam. You prayed to _me_. You prayed to someone who wasn't me and me, all at once. I had to sit here, listening to you... Hell, at first, I couldn't figure out what you were talking about. And then? When it finally clicked? I don't know what scared me more, the fact something out there has my powers - _mine!_ \- or the fact that you might buy into whatever he was sellin' and get hurt because of it."

The unwanted feeling of shame rushed through Sam, quickly smothering his earlier anger. It felt worse _hearing_ how he'd worried Gabriel, rather than just knowing it.

He hadn't meant to scare him. He'd known Gabriel would hear him, but he'd thought Gabriel would only be _angry_ – at him or the tulpa. Or both. He'd been _so sure_ that the tulpa wouldn't have had a reason to hurt him that he'd forgotten Gabriel wouldn't have had that ease of mind, too. He'd been too wrapped up in his own thoughts, too focused on his goal.

When Sam looked up, Gabriel was still giving him that tired look.

"So maybe I overreacted. But I saw his wings over you, and the only thought going through my head was, 'Get away from him.' _You_ were my priority, not him. And maybe I said some things harsher than I should have, but, in that moment, I felt he needed to _learn_. ...He sure as hell wasn't going to keep me from you."

Sam didn't know what to say. It was strange to admit that he hadn't realized how much Gabriel cared for him. Sure, Sam'd pulled some hair-brained stunts – like confronting Gadreel, alone – just to save Gabriel, but... It was weird being on the other side of things. To be the person who someone would fight viciously for. Someone other than Dean, anyway.

And he didn't particularly care for the way _Dean_ did it, at times, either.

"You still... You shouldn't've..." Sam tried to scold.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Guy had good intentions. I _know_. I think I figured that out around the time you thought stepping in-between an Archangel and his target was a good idea. Or between a _loaded gun_ and _its_ target," Gabriel replied before he pursed his lips and raised a brow in disapproval.

Sam blushed at that. Okay, so maybe he did stupid things when he was desperate. Occasionally, _extremely_ stupid things.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Sorry you didn't tell me the truth, summoned a dangerous creature into your bedroom, and ultimately caused New York to suffer a very brief power outage, or sorry you hurt my feelings?" Gabriel teased.

"Um."

Gabriel smirked as he narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, that's what I thought. You were never very good at learning your lessons."

"Shut up."

The melancholy mood hanging off Gabriel seemed to vanish instantly as he shrugged. A spark of excitement shown in his eyes as he smiled. The shift made Sam grow suspicious.

"Anyway, I got some good news!" He chirped.

Sam squinted at him, "I'm almost afraid to ask."

The smile didn't falter. Instead, Gabriel patted the bed beside him, "C'mon, Sam. Let's have a bit o' story time. Might wanna sit, as this'll take a while. And you standing there awkwardly is really doing a number on my ego."

At the admission, Sam realized what he was doing, how his physical distance might translate to a lingering emotional one. With that in mind, he obeyed Gabriel's request and sat down beside him. Rather than keep his feet on the floor, Gabriel twisted around to sit cross-legged and face Sam. He seemed entirely too eager to tell his tale, but his energy forced a small smile onto Sam's lips.

"So!" Gabriel began with an exaggerated tone of conspiracy. "I have a very, _very_ good idea about what we're dealing with."

"Yeah," Sam replied. "A tulpa."

"No, not that!" Gabriel snapped with a wave of his hand. "I mean, obviously that, but I'm talking about how and where the little bugger came from."

Sam frowned. "And you figured that out _how?_"

"He has my scythe. Er, sickle. Curved tool used for reaping. Anyway: There's only one place in all of Creation he coulda gotten thing, and that's a very old monastery in Egypt."

Sam nodded slowly. "Okay, I'm confused." He held up a finger, "You're saying that A) you have a scythe, sickle, weapon thing, B) said weapon was randomly in _Egypt_, and C) the tulpa somehow got his hands on it?"

He couldn't recall any lore with Gabriel having a scythe. Horn, yeah. A mirror, sure, though Sam was under the assumption that one was just iconic symbolism. Same with the white lilies. But, a scythe? That was Death's thing. Why would Gabriel have one, too? Furthermore, what could it _do?_ And why Egypt?

Gabriel rolled his eyes and rocked back, "Yes, I have a scythe. That damn thing's nearly as old _as_ Creation. Given to me way before the Horn. And it's pretty damn powerful. Took out a whole army with it, once upon a time. But... Well, y'know what I did with the Horn. Did the same thing with the scythe, in essence. Only, I didn't stick a piece of my Grace on this one."

"Why not?" Sam asked curiously, more than a little interested in Gabriel's story.

"Eh. A few reasons. For one, the Horn I didn't want anyone to find. Ever. So I tried to make sure it'd defend itself if it were to be found. ...Obviously, that didn't work. But with my scythe? Didn't really care. Without knowing how to tap into its power, it's just going to be like any ol' gardenin' tool. With the latent ability to promote the growth of crops, but still. No accidentally wiping out half a damn continent with one swing."

"It can do that?" Sam breathed.

"Mm, yeah."

Sam balked at the idea, "And you're okay with the tulpa having it?! Gabe -!"

"_Easy_ there_._ No need for the hysterics. Like I said: Ya gotta know how to use it. The tulpa's got some know-how, but he's not _me._ Plus, to use that much power, ya need my Grace. Something he doesn't have. ...And that would be the _other_ reason I didn't bind my Grace to it."

Even with Gabriel trying to reassure him, making logical sense, Sam couldn't help but stay worried. Just because it couldn't do the most damage it could do, the scythe was still the weapon of an Archangel. By definition, that was entirely too much power to be in the hands of something as confused and unpredictable as the tulpa was now.

"Anyhoo," Gabriel went on. "The tulpa didn't _somehow_ get his hands on the scythe. I think..."

Gabriel's demeanor changed. His fun, conspiratorial act fell away gradually to be replaced with something Sam could've sworn was regret. Then, resignation. His eyes drifted from Sam's to pinpoint an indescript point on the bed's headboard.

"What?" Sam pried gently.

Gabriel sighed. "I hid the scythe in a desert, and then visited a few people in their dreams. Told them to build a monastery there. Don't let the appearance fool ya, folks, it'll be blessed by the time you get there." He finally drew his attention back to Sam. "I wanted them to simultaneously guard the scythe...and be given an oasis. Their own little paradise. Heh, I was a bit of a sap, I guess.

"They did what I told them to do, and I visited them. Gave them my little gift and instructed them how to use it for their new, mostly-magical crops. And I made them swear that they would _never_ tell anyone I'd been there, or they would feel the wrath of an Archangel. Then, I left."

Sam shifted uneasily. He licked his lips, dreading to ask, "Did they...?"

"Tell? No. Not really. Wrote it down for worship, sure. But the outside world didn't find out about the monastery for the Archangel Gabriel until centuries after the desert had reclaimed it."

Sam shook his head, "Centuries after? ...So what happened to the people?"

Gabriel smiled bitterly. "Plunderers. At least, that's my best guess. In hindsight, even out in the middle of nowhere, it's not that hard to spot a bunch o' greenery in a sea of dust and sand. I went back. Don't really remember why. Curiosity? Maybe I'd sense something wrong. ...Found a buncha graves with mutilated corpses in them, some mutilated corpses without graves, and a missing scythe. Without _it_, oasis disappeared. Monastery fell into ruins."

Sam took a breath. "You don't think-?"

"The tulpa? No. Not all of them. But he's definitely the one that took the scythe. Can't be anyone but him. And now I'm starting to think I know what happened to those plunderers."

"...He got revenge."

God, that was horrible. Sam couldn't figure out why the tulpa hadn't interfered _before_ the people of the monastery had been massacred, but he could definitely see him destroying those who'd done it. He'd seen the tulpa's fury. An avenging angel was always terrifying, true angel or no.

Sam's brow furrowed, "You think the people at the monastery created the tulpa?"

"Unfortunately. I _was_ the sole reason they were there. They knew I existed for a fact. The faith – the _belief_ – they woulda had in me... It's not unreasonable."

Sam rubbed his hand across his mouth. He felt like he had more questions than he had answers. He still didn't understand how a tulpa could exist of something that truly existed. However, he supposed, all a tulpa required was focused belief. Constant, vigilant meditation on one thought and one thought alone. Who knew how long it'd taken for the tulpa to finally form into something coherent? Tangible. _Real_. He doubted Gabriel knew, since the Archangel had left the monastery to its own devices.

Of course, he still wondered if the tulpa came into being to fill the void Gabriel had left. Given the context clues Gabriel had given, he'd guess that the scythe was given to the monastery _after_ Gabriel had decided to skip town. People still believed in him, but he was hiding all traces of himself. He'd fallen off the map, changed names and allegiances. Perhaps, the tulpa of Gabriel _was_ an attempt by the universe to achieve equilibrium?

"Right." Sam frowned and tilted his head, "Now that I think about it, why didn't you wait and tell all of this Dean, too? I mean, he was kinda in the room with us."

Gabriel's smirk returned. "Well, for one, I don't think he cares. And, let's admit it, I don't think your brother'd like me too much if he found out I led to this whole, unfortunate scenario. He _especially_ wouldn't like the bit about my scythe. Probably demand me to get it back and take out the tulpa while I'm at it."

"_Shouldn't_ you take it back?"

"I don't need it," Gabriel shrugged. "And I feel like the tulpa can do more with it than I can. Or, I should say: The tulpa's _willing_ to do more with it. He's the one goin' 'round curing kids. The goody-two-shoes version of the Archangel Gabriel. Let 'im have his fun. Smite some demons. Just... He's gotta tone it down a notch. He's got bloodhounds on his trail now. He needs _perspective_."

Sam was silent. He'd picked up the hint in Gabriel's tone, that conspiratorial one from before. He'd hatched a plan. He'd told Sam the story, alone, for a reason. He wanted something from Sam.

Funnily enough, Sam didn't feel all that bothered by it. He agreed about the tulpa; it's why he'd prayed.

"What am I supposed to do?" Sam questioned.

"He'll come back for you, Sam. He sensed you coming. He actually showed himself to you when you prayed, no matter if you stumbled through that prayer or not. He tried to protect you. And you were the one that tried to protect him. Tulpa though he may be, he thinks just as well as us."

"If he wants answers, he'll try and get them from me," Sam realized.

"Bingo." Gabriel shook his head once. "But he won't show himself as long as I'm here."

"Wait, you're going to leave me? As_ bait?_"

Gabriel turned serious, brows lowering into a stern stare.

"I'm not _leaving_ you. At least, not completely. Just gotta hide in the shadows real well, to the point everyone thinks I'm gone. Relax, Sam. He won't hurt you. And, if he tries, I'll pull his goddamn feathers out, one at a time, before boiling him."

The smile that graced Gabriel's lips this time was the Trickster's. Seeing it again made Sam a little wary. However, he felt a little better about the plan, knowing that Gabriel was still going to have his back. Things could go wrong. They often did when the Winchesters were involved. Yet, Sam took to heart what Gabriel had said about the tulpa favoring him. If he played his cards right, if he was sympathetic, everyone might be able to walk away without a scratch this time.

Sam nodded, "So. What do I do until then?"

"Catch some shut eye? You've been on the move all day. You can't tell me you're not tired."

"Well, that would be a nice plan, if you'd let me grab my clothes before ushering me out of my room. You want me to sleep in jeans?" Sam joked.

Gabriel raised his hand and snapped.

Sam didn't even feel the shift of fabric on his skin, but he did feel the sudden lack of cloth on his arms. Looking down, he was surprised to find himself in his pyjamas. He looked back up at Gabriel, one brow slightly raised.

"Y'know, with you, I woulda imagined myself nude right about now."

Gabriel snorted, though the glint in his eye made Sam think he wouldn't have minded.

"And I'm sure ya woulda loved to have deep, revelational conversation with the tulpa while wearing your birthday suit."

Sam cringed, "Yeah, no. That."

"'Eyes are up here, buddy.'"

Gabriel's comment caused Sam to laugh. It was such an easy joke to make, but the sheer absurdity of the scene he pictured in his head made it funnier than it had any right to be. When the laugh died down, he grinned at Gabriel. Gabriel was smiling at him, a gentle smile he rarely saw, and then he was reaching a hand behind Sam's neck to pull him down into a kiss.

The kiss was as gentle as his smile had been, and as chaste as all the ones Sam had ever instigated, but what was stunning about it was that _Gabriel_ had initiated it. Gabriel was all about reciprocating Sam's affections, but he'd rarely ever started something more than a touch on his own. And that realization made this kiss feel warmer for some reason, as if chasing away a chill in his veins he hadn't even known was there.

When Gabriel pulled back, he didn't go far. His eyes were the only thing Sam could see, and he felt the pull of them.

"Get some sleep, Sam," Gabriel murmured, his breath on Sam's lips.

Sam wanted nothing more than to kiss Gabriel again. His lips were oh-so-close. But when Gabriel brought his hands up to gently take hold of Sam's face, he moved away. He moved _up_, to place those warm lips against Sam's forehead.

_That_ kiss felt like a benediction.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, the tulpa arc still continues. Got any questions – that DON'T pertain to my shit updating speeds – hit me up. I'll gladly answer them, if they're not spoilers. Also, reviews are the fuel that keeps writers going. Remember that.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **I'm surprised y'all took to the tulpa as well as you did. Pleasantly surprised, of course. Warms my little writer heart. I had to change writing programs near the end of the fic, so if you see a shift in the quotation style, that would be why.

Warning: This chapter contains graphic material/gore. If you're vulnerable to that: Brace yourself.

Songs worth mention: "You Found Me," by The Fray, "O Death," from the _Until Dawn_ soundtrack, and for a li'l pick-me-up, "Groovy!" by Kohmi Hirose.

* * *

When Sam awoke, he hadn't a clue what time it was. The blinds were closed, had been when he'd entered the room earlier that night, so the darkness that blanketed him didn't tell him anything. Frankly, he didn't care what time it was. He had nowhere to be. Dean had texted just after Sam had laid down to ask if he was alright. Of course, Dean had worded it a lot more perverted than that, never one to forego a jab about Gabriel, but Sam got the gist.

They'd hatched a plan to stay in Manhattan, for one more day _at least_, just to see what the tulpa would do. And Sam had conveniently failed to bring up the _other_ plan he had going with Gabriel. Because, if he had said something, he had no doubt that Dean would've stomped his way up to the eighth floor of the Hilton to shout at him about how stupid he was. Screw that.

His conscience took that moment to remind him that lying was bad, even if it was just withholding information. Secrets were a sin! And he promptly told his conscience to shut up. He was warm. The sheets Gabriel had magicked onto his bed were softer than they had any right to be, given that they were in a hotel, where fabric softener didn't seem to exist, and he was going to enjoy said sheets without the added weight of guilt.

Sam turned his head and nuzzled his face into the mattress, lazily moving his limbs through the covers. The only thing that could make the bed more comfortable was Gabriel being in it, but that cheeky little asshole had slinked out of the room shortly after his well-meaning kiss.

Speaking of Gabriel, Sam was pretty confident that the eyes he felt on him were _not_ Gabriel's. At least, not _his_ Gabriel's. No, these eyes were probably silver, and angry.

Somehow managing to keep a lid on the fear nettling him, Sam lifted his head to look over his shoulder.

Sure enough, there stood the tulpa. He was at the end of the bed, the flowing, white robe he wore nearly touching the scarlet sheets that fell over the edge of the mattress. His wings were half raised and curved forward slightly, a dark parody from earlier, when he'd tried to _protect_ Sam. Some of his smaller feathers puffed in agitation when Sam finally looked at him. The glare he wore was nowhere near as terrifying as the sight of Gabriel's scythe clutched tightly in his left hand. Though, it was pretty high up there.

Even still, Sam remained calm. If the tulpa had wanted to hurt him, he would've done it while Sam slept. He could have slit his throat easily, Sam nonethewiser. He didn't. He was upset, but he'd come for a reason. Most likely the exact reason Sam and Gabriel had known he would.

"Gabriel," Sam greeted as he slowly, carefully, pulled himself into a sitting position.

He wasn't expecting the cruel smile that spread across the tulpa's face, tainting his eyes.

"Oh, _now_ I'm Gabriel. Not _then_. Not while you let your inhuman friend attack me."

Gently, Sam reminded him, "I tried to tell you to run. You wouldn't listen."

The tulpa's hand tightened further on the scythe as he flapped his wings once, causing them to come so close to Sam that they nearly smacked him on either side of his head. The gust of air that resulted _did_ hit Sam, however. He flinched, though barely.

He wasn't going to let the tulpa affect him. This was no different than when Crowley'd thrown a wadded up piece of paper in his face after he'd asked – commanded – the demon for help. A tantrum was still a tantrum.

"Do you really think an Archangel is going to run from a threat?" The tulpa demanded. "Do you think we have the _luxury,_ when those we're meant to save remain in harm's way? I was doing my duty!"

Sam had an opening. His quick mind picked apart the phrasing the tulpa had used. He knew what to do, he knew what he had to do, he just hoped beyond all hope that he could word it right. After all, he wanted to keep his head, when all was said and done. Not that he thought the real Gabriel would let it get that far, but he wasn't going to risk it.

"You were doing your duty," Sam echoed. "You follow orders. I gave you an order to run."

"You. Are. Not. _God_."

"No," Sam agreed with a shake of his head. "But I get the feeling that God didn't order you to save me. So, whose orders were you following, then?"

The tulpa's face twitched, his emotions conflicting with each other. He was defiant, Sam could tell that by the way he held himself, but the doubt that Sam's words had caused... As before, with Gabriel, they took root, and their impact was stronger than the tulpa's stubbornness. They had him trembling minutely, a reaction the tulpa was trying desperately to hide through his posturing.

"They say you've stood in the presence of God, but do you even know what He looks like? Can you remember?"

The tulpa remained silent. The heat in his glare was dimming, but the uncertainty that was creeping into them was equally worrying. Either emotional extreme, combined with the power the tulpa wielded, meant Sam still needed to be cautious. Luckily, unlike Gabriel, Sam had many years of dealing harsh news to people.

Sam slowly half-crawled, half-scooted his way down the bed, towards the tulpa. As he'd expected, the tulpa flinched back. He only took a half step, but it gave away his wariness and distrust towards Sam. As did his wings, waving down towards Sam only to brought up quickly into their original, imposing position. Such an action reminded Sam of a hawk fighting a snake.

Positioning himself at the foot of the bed, Sam sat cross-legged and looked up at the tulpa. He gave the nervous being his best imploring, innocent look he could give – something many people had told him was a 'puppy dog' look – and received a frown for his efforts. Well, at least a frown was better than a glare.

"Do you remember how you were created?" Sam questioned.

The tulpa answered suredly, "God created me. He created all the angels. He created Everything."

Sam expertly caught his eyeroll before it happened. Right, don't ask something that could get him a textbook answer. Word things that specifically forced the tulpa to have his own interpretations, access his own memories. Not the answers provided to him via everyone that believed in Gabriel.

"Alright, well... What's the first thing you remember _experiencing?_ Vividly. Like, with all of your senses."

He cringed inwardly. He probably could've worded that better. Even so, thankfully, the tulpa's eyes drifted from Sam's.

He was thinking. Remembering, as was evident by the unfocused look in his eyes. As the seconds ticked by, his frown spread, furrowing his brow in concentration. It was strange, watching him look for that one little thread that Sam hoped he would find. That small spark of memory that Sam needed him to have, so that the tulpa would have a foundation to rebuild his knowledge of himself on.

Eventually, after a respectful silence from Sam, the tulpa replied, his tone of voice no longer as sure as it had been.

"A monk." His head tilted slightly as he continued to stare off into space. "He was on his knees, praying. To Gabriel. _I_ was Gabriel. He... He needed me. _They_ needed me. Him and his people. They needed deliverance. Their crops were failing, and they didn't know why, so they gave me the scythe. My scythe. I-I used it. Their fruit trees were withered, but the scythe... They'd seen me use it before, and thought that the scythe must only answer to me. They said I was the only one that could resurrect the crops, so I did."

Sam frowned when the tulpa's expression became pained. He could tell immediately that it wasn't just from emotional pain, and his worry only grew when the tulpa raised his left hand, still holding the scythe, to his head.

"They asked me why I'd left, but I didn't remember leaving. I _hadn't_ left them. I- They- I could only swear that I wouldn't. They needed me. I had to remain there. I had to use the scythe. The ished tree-"

The tulpa whimpered, taking a few steps back from Sam, and shut his eyes tightly. His wings drew themselves behind him, tense. He was trembling again.

Spooked, Sam sat up straighter, one leg falling over the edge of the bed. Something told him he should stop the tulpa, but he didn't know how. Not without possibly injuring himself in the process. He hovered where he was.

The tulpa was speaking fast now, his chest heaving with the breaths he was taking way too often.

"I left. They needed food. I had to- I didn't hear them. _I didn't hear them_. I was- I was too far away, and I didn't _hear them_. Oh, _God_, I didn't hear them, and _they came_."

"Gabriel," Sam's voice wavered.

"They _slaughtered_ them," the tulpa growled. "They slaughtered everyone. Rejoiced in their carnage."

Sam inhaled sharply as the tulpa flickered before him. The form he'd come to know – white robe with blue sash; blond, curly hair; indigo blue wings – shimmered like a reflection on water. Underneath that 'reflection' was a different form. One Sam knew almost as well as he knew himself.

It was Gabriel. _His_ Gabriel. Patches of him, anyway, that danced across the tulpa. As if the being couldn't decide what form to portray: The one he remembered from over a thousand years ago, or the one Sam had projected onto him just recently.

"I _destroyed _them," the tulpa stated harshly, Gabriel's visage becoming more prominent in his unstable form.

Sam lunged forward, grabbing ahold of the tulpa's wrists from where they remained on either side of his head. When the tulpa glared up at him, his form was completely Gabriel's, amber irises glowing hotly. For a second, Sam feared the tulpa was too lost in his reminiscing to remember that the person in front of him wasn't the villains he was thinking of.

"_They deserved it!_" 'Gabriel' hissed at him.

"Stop!" Sam shouted.

He shook the tulpa once, desperate to make the tulpa retake the form he was used to him having, to separate him from Gabriel. And it worked. Somehow. The tulpa blinked, form immediately shifting back.

He stared up at Sam. He seemed stunned, as if he was caught in the moment and not thinking about anything. Or, maybe, he was overwhelmed.

"You're not him," Sam stressed, hands still wrapped around the tulpa's smaller wrists. "You're _not_ Gabriel. At least, not the _Archangel_ Gabriel. You're a _different_ Gabriel. You know how you said that the monks, or whatever, asked you why you'd left? And you couldn't remember? That's because _you _didn't leave. The _Archangel_ Gabriel left. He gave them the scythe to take care of the crops, but... I don't know, maybe it didn't work? So, they prayed to him. Only, he never came. But their belief in him was so great that... That they created _you_.

_"They _created you, not God. And, because they believed you to be Gabriel, it forced you to think you _were_ Gabriel. Do you understand?"

The tulpa was frowning at him, again, but this time he didn't seem to be completely against what Sam was telling him. Instead, he seemed to be disturbed by what Sam was revealing to him. He had to see the logic in Sam's explanation. He just had to.

"Then what am I?" The tulpa challenged. "If not an Archangel, what could I be to use the scythe meant for him? To hear the prayers _meant for him?_"

Sam wet his lips. It was now or never, and he sincerely hoped he didn't fuck it all up. He hoped he understood what was going on with the tulpa as well as he thought he did. Or, otherwise, the tulpa would find the holes in his reasoning and use them against him.

"You're a thoughtform," Sam explained gently. "A tulpa. When enough people believe in something so strongly, so distinctly, they can create, with their minds, the very thing they're convinced exists. And that tulpa is bound to the beliefs of the people who created it. So, with the people at that monastery, they poured into you everything they knew about Gabriel. Even... Even your immortality. So that you didn't disappear when they died. You kept going, fueled by the belief everyone else in the world has for Gabriel. And that belief affects you still. It's why you know all these things about God, angels, and everything else, but you don't really _remember_ those things happening."

Sam wasn't expecting the bitter laughter that came from the tulpa as he stared up at Sam with haunted eyes.

"So, according to you, I'm a lie. A puppet to all the whims of the masses who don't really want _me_. Forever bound to what they want without any choice of my own."

"What?" Sam breathed. "Wha – No, that's not what I meant! I-"

The tulpa jerked free of Sam's grasp, his scythe barely avoiding Sam's arm. Sam drew away from him just as quickly.

"It's what you said!" The tulpa shouted. "I exist only because people wanted someone else. They wanted _Gabriel_. And their wants and desires fuel me just as they chain me to my pitiful existence. I have no say in what I do! I have no choice in what _I_ believe!"

"Oh, suck it up, buttercup," Gabriel's voice spoke.

Sam startled, unaware that the Archangel had entered the room. He was standing in the corner behind the tulpa, arms folded lazily as he leant against the wall. A fact that made no sense unless Gabriel had been standing there the entire time, only cloaked. Sam didn't know how he felt about that, but he was guiltily relieved when the tulpa turned his hurt and rage towards Gabriel.

"Gabriel," Sam warned, regardless.

"Yeah, your life sucks," Gabriel continued, as if he hadn't heard Sam. "I wouldn't exactly like being tethered to a bunch of ungratefuls, either. Don't like it when somebody else tells me what to think or what to do. Part of the reason I bolted when I did and turned off prayers. And I get that you don't exactly got that _luxury_. But are you really going to stand there and shout at the man who's done nothing but believe in and support you, to his own trigger-happy friends, because you've finally figured out you're one of many that've been given the short end of the stick? Are you really so bitter because _you're alive?_"

The tulpa glared at Gabriel, but his demeanor shifted. Some of the fight, his rage, seemed to flow out of him, but his defensiveness remained.

"And how can _you_ stand to be yourself?" He threw back. "I know everything the world wishes you to be. _I'm it_. They long for guidance, for help, for hope, and you've abandoned them all. I'm forced to be you because you _'bolted.'_" He smiled cruelly at Gabriel and added, "You let them _die._"

Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly, "Yup. But I'm not here to talk about me and my failings. I'm here to give you a little lesson."

The tulpa raised his wings at that, glaring in warning at Gabriel. He expected a fight. Honestly, Sam had almost expected one, too. 'Lessons' from Gabriel were hardly ever a good thing. Sam looked worriedly between the two, but as Gabriel continued, some of his fears dissipated.

"Toss aside those tumultuous feelings for a sec and _think_, hm? Why did you come back here? Because Sam prayed to you, or because you wanted to? Lemme answer that for ya: It's because you wanted to. Out of all the prayers being said, right now, within a mile of you, you shirked every single one of them to come here and get answers. _That_, my friend, points to you being more than just a puppet. On countless occasions, you've exercised a wonderful little thing we like to call _free will_. Contrary to what you think, you have _a choice. _Those annoying instincts, voices, whatever you wanna call 'em, that whisper in your ear, telling you what to be and how to act_, you can shut off._"

The tulpa laughed bitterly. His wings had drooped halfway through Gabriel's speech, and now his whole demeanor made Sam think the being thought he had no hope. In an odd, cruel twist, he seemed to have lost faith.

"Never, in all the time I've been alive, have I been able to quiet them." His smile was a broken thing. "I'm always what they see."

"No," Sam stated firmly, gaining the tulpa's attention. "Earlier, when you were remembering your past, you shifted back to... Well, to look like Gabriel's Vessel. I mean, I know that's how your creators originally saw you, but... Since you were standing right in front of me, you should've retained what _I'm_ projecting onto you, right? But you didn't. You went back to how-how _you_ thought you looked like? At least back then?"

Sam's words were a jumbled mess, he knew, his brain scrambling for the best way to describe what he meant. The tulpa could control himself. That was the gist of it. He could act independently from all of the forces working on him, even if it took a lot of effort for him to do so. Rarely, and never in Sam's personal experience, did a tulpa reach such a state of being. Those that did were often destroyed by the person who'd created them over a period of months and intense meditation.

No one wanted to risk an entity born from them to gain a mind of its own...

Sam looked imploringly at Gabriel, urging him to convey his point better than he had. Gabriel saw the look and groaned.

"What he's sayin' is that, even with all the annoying urges and prayers that come with your 'pitiful existence,' you have the ability to choose whether or not you're going to obey them. Might take some fighting on your part, but it can definitely be done. You got the power."

The tulpa looked like he disagreed, but he seemed to at least be listening to what they had to say now. He didn't look _completely_ devastated and hopeless. Sam let himself relax a little. However, when Gabriel grinned and slapped his hands together with dramatic glee, Sam grew worried again.

"Which is great news, by the way!" Gabriel announced, his false cheer obviously aggravating the tulpa if the other's near snarl was anything to go by. "Because you're gonna need to be able to rein yourself in, buddy boy."

"Do not," the tulpa growled, "call me that. I am no friend of yours."

"Ouch, I'm so offended. ...Only, I'm not. Listen, blondie - "

"Gabriel," Sam warned, again, this time through clenched teeth.

" - your little stunt with the healings and the smiting? Yeah, got noticed. By more than just the religious fanatics and our hunting trio."

"What _he's_ trying to say," Sam interrupted, in fear that Gabriel would ruin all of their progress calming the tulpa because of some ill-worded explanation, "is that some of our angel...friends, um, they caught on to something acting like an angel. Only to discover your signature wasn't quite angelic. And that's not a good thing, for you..."

"Yeah, they like smiting things that aren't _right,_ if you catch my drift."

With an almost bored air, the tulpa asked, "You're suggesting these..._true_ angels, friends of yours, would try and destroy me were they to track me down through my miracles? Let me guess: You want me to stop helping people. To wait until their suspicious eyes look elsewhere."

"Mm, yeah," Gabriel nodded with a smile.

"And why do you care?"

"Because you're a good guy," Sam stressed. "In our line of work, we rarely ever find something supernatural going around doing _good_. You're not something to be hunted, but that doesn't mean others are gonna think of that way."

"Seriously. No matter how many assholes you give what's comin' to 'em, there's always someone wearing plaid waiting to stab you with a pointy stick."

Sam gave Gabriel a blank look at the dig. The tulpa, however, completely ignored him in favor of Sam. He was silent a moment, contemplative, and then he shifted his weight.

"We'll see," he announced, and then vanished.

Sam threw his hands up to indicate the now blank space where the tulpa had been.

"What does that mean! Is that a yes or a no?"

"It means he's probably going to land himself in hot water, anyway." Gabriel replied, making his way the short distance to Sam. "He cares _too much_ about what happens to people, though he throws a fit about being tethered to 'em. Luckily, as he so merrily pointed out, I don't have that problem!"

Sam frowned down at him, "Yeah, no, I don't buy that. Play the Grinch all you want, I know for a fact that that heart in there is three sizes bigger than you like people to believe."

Gabriel's jaw dropped as he placed his hand against his chest in mock surprise.

"Sam! When did your powers grow to incorporate x-ray vision?" He squinted suspiciously and leaned toward him, "Can you see through my clothes?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Anyway, what are we gonna do now?"

Gabriel glanced around the room, and Sam instantly knew that whatever came out of his mouth was only going to be more jokes.

"Sex?"

"_About the tulpa_."

"Ah."

"He's disappeared who knows where, and we've told him all we can. I mean, I hope he doesn't...'land himself in hot water,' but..."

"Nothing we can do, Sam. He's got that pesky thing called free will, remember? Can lead a horse to water but can't make him drink. No point in fretting over what ya can't change. Which, yeah, I know, you do anyway. Spend enough time around me and maybe that annoying li'l habit will go away."

"Doubtful."

Gabriel sighed in defeat. "Tell Dean about our little chat, listen to him scream at us for going behind his back, and then blow this joint?"

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Dean stormed across the carpet of Sam's old room, as pissed off as they knew he would be. Gabriel had taken up residence on the corner of the computer table, butt haphazardly pushing some papers over to the side and wrinkling others. Sam sat on the bed, watching Dean's boots try their best to carve a permanent track into the fibers.

"Dean," Sam prodded gently.

"Sorry, Sam, I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you had a _midnight chat_ with a _monster_ who's in possession _of a weapon_. One he used to try and decapitate Gabriel!" He spun on his feet and raised his arms, "And you didn't think to tell me until _the next day!_"

"He wasn't hostile," Sam replied, probably too calm for Dean's liking.

"Plus, you told us not to disturb you before ten in the morning. We were just following your orders, big guy," Gabriel shrugged.

Dean glared at Gabriel and raised a finger at him.

"Shut up. That's not what I meant and you know it. _Emergencies_ are _emergencies_ for a reason_. _Something's up? You fuckin' ignore shit like that. ...And I don't even know why I'm spellin' that out to you. You know better!"

"Do I?" Gabriel mused. "I mean, I'm an angel. We follow orders, Dean."

"Like hell you do," Dean spat.

"Gabriel, knock it off. Dean, I'm telling you, he meant no harm. He just wanted answers. Wanted to know more specifics about what was going on. He knows what he is now, how the whole tulpa thing works. He didn't even insult Gabriel!"

"Debatable," Gabriel mumbled.

"Well, you _were_ rude to him."

Gabriel puckered his lips and nodded in assent.

Dean waved his hands at them.

"Hello! Not the point." He motioned to all three of them, "We're supposed to be a team. We're supposed to be informing each other of what the hell's goin' down when. That's just what _you do_ on a hunt. But y'all decided to take matters into your own hands. Not how it works!"

"Says a Winchester, a family of the human species that would keel over dead if they weren't allowed to keep secrets."

"I'm _sorry_, Dean," Sam replied, ignoring Gabriel. "But there wasn't enough time to call you, or text you, and say, 'Hey, the tulpa showed up!' He was there, suddenly, we talked, and he left. Not to mention, you would've stormed in, gun drawn. Again. And don't try to tell me you wouldn't have. I get it. It's instinct. But, sometimes, that doesn't work. This was one of those times."

Dean's anger faded, but only a little. He seemed to concede to Sam's worry over his approach to the tulpa, or any unknown creature in Sam's room. Dean was Dean. However, something was still eating at him, and it wasn't Gabriel's flippant barbs.

"You still waited until now to tell me."

Sam somehow controlled himself to not make a similar point to what Gabriel had seconds before.

Yeah, Gabriel and he had kept their meeting with the tulpa a secret until nearly noon, mostly because Sam had slept late, woken up, and then had to mentally prepare himself for the shitstorm he knew he'd receive later. Later being now. But what about all the times Dean had met with dangerous people and waited to tell Sam? Benny. Crowley. _Cain_. The list went on. Dean really had no grounds to judge.

Sam settled for a shrug instead.

"Coulda kept it a secret indefinitely. We would've left today, or tomorrow, and you'd be none the wiser as to why I suddenly stopped worrying about the guy. But, Dean, I didn't. So, are we gonna continue to go back and forth over this, or are we gonna move on? Like I said, he knows everything now, he was calm when he left. I think it's okay if _we_ leave."

Dean's jaw twitched in his effort not to continue the argument. It was clear to him that Sam was done talking about what he perceived to be some form of betrayal. Truthfully, all it had been was Sam taking matters into his own hands. He was _grown_. He could handle things on his own. Sometimes, Sam felt like his brother forgot that.

Dean threw up his hands in surrender.

"Fine. Whatever. We'll do it your way. But I ain't leavin' today. I said I was gonna give it a day, to see if that winged, goody-two-shoes screws the pooch, and I'm gonna." He made a circular motion with his finger and pointed to the door, "And y'all two can get the hell out of my room so I can enjoy the rest of this 'vacation.'"

Sam frowned, "Um. Technically, it's my room."

"Yeah, well, you gave it up when you went to bunk with Gabriel last night." Dean smiled, "_Out._"

Both Sam and Gabriel grumpily pushed themselves from their respective perches and stepped outside once-Sam's-now-Dean's room. The door shut behind them with a little more force than was necessary. Gabriel wasted no time and stepping away, walking down the hall with an easy pace. A few long strides and Sam had caught up with him.

"Well, that went about as well as I'd imagined it would," he grumbled. "Not really sure why Dean thinks kicking me out of my room's punishing me."

"A lot of what Dean thinks doesn't make sense. But, hey," Gabriel smacked his arm with the back of his hand, "did a good job stickin' up for yourself in there."

Sam's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, please, Sam. Though you often _think_ you're your own man who doesn't always have to answer to his often domineering older brother, you rarely _voice_ it. You two are in your thirties. _Way_ passed time to get over the whole overprotective brother thing. I can guarantee you: The more you tell Dean he's being an ass, the more he'll start to see it. ...I'd do it myself, but he thinks I'm a troll."

"You _are_ a troll."

"_Details._"

They reached the elevator. Gabriel pressed the button to go up. As they waited for the doors to open, Gabriel tilted his head towards Sam.

"So, whaddya _you _wanna do? Given we got," he looked at the nonexistent watch on his wrist, "roughly sixteen hours - give or take how long your brother wants to twiddle his thumbs - before we have to leave."

Sam snorted and teased, "Sex?"

Mischief danced in Gabriel's eyes as he nodded, contemplating.

"It's an idea. Not sure what to do when a certain blond-haired, blue-winged individual shows up because I have you screaming my name."

Sam's smirk morphed into a look of faint horror. Gabriel smiled and patted his arm gently.

"Yeah, might have to get a raincheck on that."

The elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and Gabriel stepped inside. Sam followed, silent, and tried his damnedest to erase the awkward scenario Gabriel had brought up from his mind. He'd been joking before, but now he really _was_ against actually having sex with Gabriel. At least while they remained in New York. Because ew.

* * *

It was well after the sun had set when Sam heard from Dean again. He hadn't been bothered by his brother's radio silence. In fact, he'd expected it. However, he felt it odd, funny even, that the first words sent to him were a request to meet in the lobby. Because Dean was hungry, and he claimed to want _real _food. Given that the hotel provided real food, Sam knew to translate Dean's words to mean he wanted _fast _food. His invitation was an olive branch, if a bit of a command, as well.

He huffed out a small laugh at his phone, gaining Gabriel's attention from where he sat beside him on the bed.

"What's numb-nuts want now?" He asked.

"Food," Sam replied with a smile as he faced him.

Gabriel's brow rose in further question.

"_Greasy_ food."

At that, Gabriel hummed in realization and nodded. He sighed and let the hands that had been joined over his stomach plop loudly onto the mattress.

"Do we really have to go? I was just getting comfortable."

"We've been sitting in the same position for hours, doing nothing but browsing the Internet and watching the Game Show Network."

Gabriel paused before admitting, "So, okay, it's more like I don't think I can move. I feel like cement in the form of an Archangel."

Sam shook his head and texted his brother that they'd be down as soon as they could.

Peeling themselves off the bed was more embarrassing than either one of them wanted to admit. Gabriel's pinched face and slow movements echoed Sam's knee popping. Maybe becoming sedentary for half a day wasn't as great as it had sounded when they first came up with the idea. But, dammit, Sam had been comfortable, shoulder pressed up against Gabriel's as they laughed at and chatted about random things. It was a good distraction for literally everything horrible going on in their lives, angry joints be damned.

They didn't bother to change into anything fancy. Sam threw on his light, button-up shirt that Gabriel had snapped up for him earlier, but that was it. Once they reached the lobby, Dean was easy enough to spot, standing near the check-in counter with his arms crossed and a small scowl on his face. Nice to see him impatient as ever.

"Finally," he groused. "I'm having grease withdrawals in this joint. Hot dogs. Hamburgers. I don't _care_ what I put in me, at this point, I just want it to taste like meat and salt."

Sam blinked, lips pursed, and cut his eyes over to Gabriel. Yes, the Archangel _had_ caught on to Dean's poor choice of words. At the sight of both of their near-snickering faces, Dean's confused frown turned into an indignant one.

"Not like that!" He shouted, earning a confused glance from a businessman who'd just stepped into the Hilton. "God, I leave you alone with him for one day and you're already livin' in the gutter."

"I didn't say anything," Sam replied with a shake of his head.

"You didn't have to," Dean snarked back. "Now, c'mon. Let's wander the block for some grub. Better yet, Gabriel, you tell us where it is."

"Sorry, Dean. Not well acquainted with dens of iniquity in this - "

Dean angrily reached out to grab Gabriel, earning an almost childish squeal from him as he danced out of reach and around the other side of Sam. Gabriel hurried his way out the door, Dean hot on his heels. Sam simply smiled at them and followed.

Gabriel didn't make it far, yet not because Dean caught him. Only a few seconds after Sam stepped outside he saw Gabriel trip. Or so he'd thought that's what he'd done, until the Archangel stumbled more and doubled over, one hand reaching for his throat while the other went for his head. Dean stopped, most likely sensing something wrong, but Sam paid him no heed as he sprinted for Gabriel.

Fear had adrenaline rushing through his veins. Fear that Metatron, or Gadreel, had once again used the Angel Siren. They'd left the protective sigil in the hotel, he realized. They'd forgotten it, let their guard down.

He grabbed a hold of Gabriel's arm, just above his elbow, and tried to steady him and turn him at the same time. He needed to see his eyes. He needed to make sure the light of Gabriel's Grace wasn't pouring out of them. However, Gabriel's eyes were tightly shut in a grimace.

"Gabe!" Sam commanded. "Gabriel, what's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."

"Angel Siren?" Dean questioned as he came to stand beside him.

"I don't know," Sam replied pitifully. "Gabe."

Gabriel hissed at him through his teeth, wrenching his arm free of Sam's grasp. The motion surprised Sam into letting go. It made him flinch a little. He was only trying to help. Why did Gabriel lash out at him?

Soon, Gabriel's eyes squinted open, and Sam sighed in relief when he saw them as the normal amber he was used to. He looked over at Sam, breathing harder than he should be, and reached back out to him, this time taking Sam's arm in his hand. He was shaking. Faintly, but he was shaking.

"Car," Gabriel bit, voice clipped. "Now. Right now."

Sam nodded uncertainly, steading Gabriel on his feet. Gabriel began walking, nearly dragging Sam with him.

"Whaddya mean, 'Car?'" Dean asked, walking briskly to catch up. "We're not driving anywhere until you tell us what the hell is going on."

"Tulpa," Gabriel tried to explain. He sounded pained. "Hot water."

"What kinda hot water?"

"Don't know."

Gabriel cringed and stumbled again. This time, Sam kept him on his feet. He didn't stop walking, despite whatever was wrong with him. Sam would've bet he'd run if he thought he could.

"I can feel it, though. He's projecting. Goddammit, Sam, but he's projecting. And it _hurts_."

"What hurts?" Dean questioned, finally sounding genuinely worried.

"_Everything._"

The three block trek it took to get to the parking garage was filled with tense silence. Gabriel walked as fast as he could, given whatever pain the tulpa was projecting onto him. Much of the time, Sam found himself being half-dragged, voiding his attempts to act as support. Dean gave him a suspicious, worried glance more than once. He didn't know what was wrong. Sam didn't know what was wrong. But they both knew that when Gabriel behaved as serious as he was the situation wasn't meant to be taken lightly.

Once in the Impala, Sam having climbed into the back with Gabriel, Dean asked him where to go.

"Hunter's Point," Gabriel replied, trying to keep his breathing even.

"Wow, really?"

"_Go,_" Gabriel growled, the glare aimed at the side of Dean's head leaving no room for argument.

"Alright. Sorry." Dean turned the keys in the ignition. The Impala roared to life. "Where, exactly, is Hunter's Point?"

"I'll get my phone - " Sam tried to offer.

"Just drive. I'll tell you when to turn."

Dean did what he was told. Sam turned to Gabriel. He was hunched over, fingers digging into his biceps.

"When you said he was projecting..." Sam hesitated, afraid his next question would be true. "Is... Is _he_ the one in pain."

Gabriel's eyes met his and it was the only answer Sam needed.

Yes. Yes, the tulpa was the one in pain. He wasn't hurting Gabriel, like he suspected Dean thought, but suffering himself. Everything hurt, or so Gabriel had said. But _why?_

"How is he-?"

"He's trying to pray. To me. But he can't. Can't get a coherent thought across. So, he's trying to get the message across another way. Turn left."

"Can you not make out what's hurting him?" Dean questioned, following Gabriel's direction. "Like, is it angels? Is it demons? Can he tell you that?"

"No, I don't know, and no. All I know is that the pain's getting less intense."

"Wait. Isn't that a good thing?"

"No," Sam replied, somber. "It means his body's most likely giving out."

He leant back against the seat and rubbed a hand across his face. This was the opposite of what he'd hoped for. He'd spent all day pleased with himself, thinking he'd spared the tulpa from something nefarious happening to him, because he'd given him the tools to avoid pitfalls his nature might put him in, and yet... Here they were, driving to some place where who knew what was happening to the poor creature that had thought, for millenia, that it was Gabriel.

It took nearly ten minutes to drive to Hunter's Point. Ten minutes of Sam steadily becoming more and more anxious. Gabriel still showed signs of distress. Whatever had happened, or was happening, to the tulpa wasn't letting up.

Their destination turned out to be a decrepit place, like an old industrial area that had seen better days. Paved road turned into uneven gravel and cement that stretched out, almost like a parking lot or dumping ground. Sam didn't know what the place had been, the significance of why it was there, and he didn't care. His attention was drawn to the beat-up Ford with out-of-state tags parked in the distance and the grassy, wooded area beyond. So much green in New York City was nowhere near as odd, or unnerving, as that old truck.

It was the one they'd parked behind the day they'd arrived in Manhattan. The one that had been missing when they went to retrieve the Impala. Sam hadn't thought anything of it at the time. People parked and left. Yet, now? The open toolbox in the back of the bed. Dread spread through him as Dean pulled up beside the truck and parked, shutting the Impala off.

Gabriel was out of the car faster than Sam was but only by a second. Gabriel went for the trees, his gait quick. However, Sam went for the truck. Sure enough, inside the open toolbox were guns, knives, a machete. Everything Dean and he carried in their own trunk.

Sam slammed his hand hard against the cab.

"Hunters!" He shouted to Dean.

On reflex, Dean drew his pistol from his jeans while he and Sam sprinted after Gabriel. They soon surpassed him, now noticing what he was so quickly walking towards. In the trees fire flickered from the ground. A circle of fire, it turned out, with two standing figures murmuring to each other nearby, and one prone figure within.

The hunters finally heard them running. One reached for the back of his pants, no doubt reaching for a gun, until the other held out his hand to stop him. In his hand was a bloody knife. In fact, the hunter with the knife was covered in blood, the red liquid staining his canvas jacket and jeans. Nearby lay a similarly bloody sack.

Sam slowed to a stop when he realized what he was seeing. Of course the tulpa was the body in the circle of fire, lying spread out on his back with a summoning circle Sam had never seen before and a pool of blood underneath him. That wasn't the shock. The shock came from the tulpa's injuries.

His wings were missing so many feathers, bloody and speared into the ground at their joints with metal stakes not unlike the ones he and his brother often reserved for creatures like zombies. His wrists were likewise speared. The once pristine, white robe he wore now drenched in blood, his throat slit.

Sam trembled and tried to remember how to breathe as he fought down a wave of nausea.

Dean, however, kept on track. Gun raised, he pointed it at the two hunters across from them, edging as close as he could without risk of getting shot himself.

"Whoa, there, buddy," the man with the knife spoke. "I get the feeling we're here for the same reasons."

"Yeah? And what's that?" Dean dared.

His body language gave away how livid he was. The two hunters looked towards one another with unease, but they were scheming. Sam knew the look, the shared, silent conversation that went between them. Dean and he weren't as welcomed as the pair pretended them to be. Despite knowing that, Sam let his gaze fall back to the tulpa.

He needed to see if he was alive. He needed to see if there was any chance in hell that he'd be able to recover from his beyond fatal wounds. He wondered how close he could get before the hunters reacted violently.

"Well, you three are hunters aren't ya?" The man continued. "No reason you'd be out here in these li'l woods if you weren't. After the angel, right?"

"Sorry to pop your bubbles, fellas," the other hunter interjected, hand not leaving the gun at his waist, "but he ain't no angel."

"Oh, is that so?" Dean asked, sarcasm obviously not received.

"Yup!" Chirped the other. "Turns out this particular winged asshole is a tulpa! Took us a minute to figure that out. But, y'know, when a dude shows up lookin' like the storybook version of an angel? Bells go off."

Sam eased his way over to the right. He was slow, circling to get out of the hunters' main line of sight so as to better reach the tulpa. He hoped Dean could keep them distracted long enough for them to let their guard down. He'd make an excuse as to what he was doing when he was close enough, and when they inevitably called him on it.

"And you two fine folks make a habit of doing that," Dean jerked his head to the tulpa, "to angels?"

The man with the gun scoffed, but it was the knife guy who answered.

"Look, I know it looks bad. But he's not real! Ya heard of tulpas, boys? He's just a thoughtform! It's all up to people's_ imagination_." He shrugged with nonchalance. "We needed angel feathers. Stock's runnin' low, and the hunter shop back home could use some, too. You know how it is!"

Dean nodded, feigning understanding. He even made a show of lowering his gun, if only marginally. The hunters relaxed a little at the gesture. Sam continued to sneak.

"But he's not an angel," Dean argued.

"No," the other hunter replied. "But the whole point of tulpas is that people believe them to be real. So, technically, his feathers are as good as the real thing. Plus, with him being fueled by belief, and whatnot, he'll just continue to grow feathers! He'll heal, after a while, and we can pluck 'im again! A renewable resource, if you will. Better than real angels."

"Yeah, kinda sucks how the wings turn to ash when they die..." The first agreed.

It was horrifying, the way the hunters talked about what they'd done. Not just to the tulpa. What they were implying they'd done to angels? Just for _feathers?_ Sure, hunters used them in spells, but.

Sam had never really given much thought as to how those feathers were procured.

Maybe he should have. Angels were dicks, most of the time, but they didn't deserve to be hunted down like that. Not for that reason. And the brutality of what they'd done to the tulpa? Uncalled for. No justification.

Sam finally glanced over his shoulder to look at Gabriel.

Gabriel was murderous. Fists clenched at his side, the glare he was giving the two hunters was nothing like Sam had ever seen. He might not feel too devastated over what had happened to the tulpa, not on a personal level, but to _angels?_ With the way they candidly discussed the implied murder of some of his species, Sam was surprised Gabriel hadn't acted against them.

Almost as if using that thought as his cue, the Gabriel Sam was looking at vanished. Sam startled. So did the hunters, if their sounds of surprise were anything to go by. Sam whipped his head around to face them again, spotting Gabriel a few yards behind them.

"So, know a thing or two about angels, do you?" Gabriel questioned.

The hunters spun on their heels. The one with the gun drew it and fired on him. Sam and Dean cried out in alarm, but none of the bullets made it to Gabriel. Soon, he was left with an empty clip and a clicking gun.

"What the hell?" The one with the knife questioned, clearly not willing to try and use it against whatever he thought Gabriel to be.

"Oh, you'll wish," Gabriel said dangerously. He leant back, head cocked, and glared at the two men. "Judging by that _broken_ ring of Holy Fire and the summoning circle with Gabriel's celestial sigil painted in the center, I get the feeling you _boys_ were looking for _me_."

Gabriel's Grace started to glow, first from his eyes and then spreading outwards. His face, his shoulders, the back of his head. The small halo that formed, not even close to what his true one looked like, gained a gasp from one of the hunters. The earth began to shake with Gabriel's growing power. The Holy Fire went out as dirt, pushed by a small wind that couldn't be anything other than Gabriel's doing, rolled over it to smother it. With the fire extinguished, the only source of light came from the moon...and Gabriel.

Hunters finally distracted, Sam risked the few remaining feet it took to get to the tulpa. He fell to his knees beside him and gasped at the disgusting sight of how deep the cut across his throat was. They hadn't wanted him screaming. Or fighting back. Sam went to work yanking the stakes out of the tulpa's wrists and wings, failing to ignore the blank stare his open eyes gave the night sky above them.

"Well, here I am!" Gabriel announced. "And y'know those little miracles that lead you to that tulpa over there? _Child's play._ You wanna see a _real_ miracle?"

Sam's attention was quickly drawn back to the Archangel when he heard the sound of wood splintering. The tree line behind Gabriel swayed and bent. The trees snapped near their roots, felled over to create a path to the East River.

Then, the East River parted. Separating at a point behind Gabriel, water rose up on either side. The sound it made was thunderous, more unsettling even than the ground shaking beneath them. The hunters shouts of panic were swallowed up by the cacophony of noise.

They tried to run, but they didn't make it far. Gabriel's hand rose, palm outstretched towards them, and they froze in place. With a quick movement of his arm, the two men were sent flying at breakneck speed, past Gabriel and into the space between the walls of water. Their screams quickly vanished under the sound of crashing water as the strait fell in on itself.

Gabriel's Grace began to dim, the ground settling.

"Damn, dude," Dean breathed, earning a cool look from Gabriel. "You went Biblical on their ass."

"They deserved it," Gabriel stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Dean held up his hands, gun held loosely, "Not saying they didn't, just... _Damn,_ dude. You got one of those zappy things from _Men in Black_? 'Cause otherwise."

"Trust me, Red Sea part deux will be explained away as a weird fluke of nature, just like all the angels Falling was likened to a _meteor shower_."

Sam tuned them out as he went back to tending to the tulpa. Gently cupping the other's cheek with his hand, Sam leaned closer to get a better look at the tulpa's unfocused eyes. All of his vital signs pointed to him being dead, but Sam also knew that belief was a powerful thing. It wasn't possible to kill an idea with weapons. No, the tulpa was most likely still alive, horrifically trapped in a mangled body and probably wishing he weren't.

"Gabriel," Sam called, realizing how awkward it was going to be to refer to the tulpa with Gabriel's name and the Archangel nearby. Screw it, it had to be done. "Gabriel, can you hear me?"

Naturally, he received no response. Not even a twitch. Sam was at a loss for what to do. He looked up at Gabriel.

"Can you heal him?"

"'fraid it doesn't work that way, Sam," Gabriel replied, solemn.

Sam watched him approach. He knelt down on the other side of the tulpa, gaze completely focused on Sam.

"I can't do anything for him," Gabriel explained, "but _you _can."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean spoke up, taking a step forward to glare suspiciously down at Gabriel, "Whaddya mean by that?"

Gabriel ignored him.

"Sam, what does the tulpa look like?"

Frowning, Sam tried to figure out what Gabriel was getting at. Did he mean appearance, or the pitiful state the tulpa was in? The most logical choice was that Gabriel was referring to appearance, because it was plain as day how injured the tulpa was. But why was he asking that?

"Like he always has?" Sam questioned, not sure what the real answer was.

At Gabriel's small smile and raised eyebrows, Sam decided to rethink his answer.

Okay, no. The tulpa… The tulpa hadn't always looked like he did now. Blond, curly hair, blue wings, that was all Sam's projection of him. That was how the tulpa had appeared to him, after sensing an old image of the Archangel that Sam had once held, back when he was younger.

"Wait, why did he appear to someone else how _I_ imagined him?"

Gabriel's smile grew, stark contrast to the carnage that lay at his feet.

"Okay, you two're doing that _thing_ again, where y'all know what the hell's goin' on and _I don't_," Dean grumbled.

"The tulpa showed up like he did because, earlier this morning, way earlier, you reinforced your thought of what he _should_ look like. You have powers now, remember? Powers that rely on your will and how you project it onto your surroundings. And the tulpa? He's a thoughtform. Fuel to your fire."

Sam's brow furrowed as he turned his attention back down to lifeless, silver eyes. He hadn't thought it was possible to feel worse for the tulpa than he already did. After all his talk of the other being able to control himself, that he could ignore, with some effort, the whims of everyone believing in him, Sam had gone and accidentally controlled some aspect of him.

"Yeah, this is more freaky shit," Dean grouched, turning away.

"I know what you're thinking Sam, but what you did wasn't malicious and kinda necessary at the time. And it's necessary now." Gabriel leaned toward him, stressing the importance of his words. "_You_ can fix him, Sam, but only you. You have just the right amount of gumption, knowledge, and power to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again. Just focus your thoughts, pour them into him, and he'll bounce back faster than he ever would waiting on all those prayers waiting in the wings."

Gabriel had more faith in him than Sam had. He'd barely been able to create a book from nothing, a _blank_ book, and that'd been after weeks of nonstop trying. Yet, as Gabriel had said, the tulpa was a thoughtform. Thoughts powering thoughts shouldn't be too hard, right? Maybe. He hoped.

Sam took in those lifeless eyes of the tulpa again, as well as the slashed and bloodied wings and neck, the holes left behind by the stakes he'd thrown over to the side.

He knew what the tulpa had looked like, at least to him, before such injuries occurred. Theoretically, all he had to do was remember that appearance and push it forward, project it onto the tulpa.

He'd set off to save the tulpa, hadn't he? To protect that one little spark of light trying to do good, angel or not. He'd failed so far, but maybe now he could succeed.

"Right," he nodded.

He wasn't completely sure why he moved to straddle the tulpa, to hunch over him, put his face in his hands, and press their foreheads together, but it seemed natural. Eyes closed, Sam focused on the cooling body under his and tried to force all other thoughts out.

"Oh, c'mon, really?" He heard Dean complain.

The dull thud of something hitting flesh and a yelp from Dean made him frown in annoyance.

"Dude!"

"No comments from the peanut gallery. Keep talkin' and I'll mute ya," Gabriel warned.

Focus on the tulpa. Focus on the tulpa and not the aforementioned peanut gallery.

Sam started with the basics: What the tulpa had looked like, the way he'd sounded, the way he'd moved. They hadn't spent a lot of time together at all, but it was enough for Sam to get a read on his character. And, in the end, it was his character that was more important than his looks, wasn't it

The tulpa was complex, joking one minute, righteous the next. Panicked. He had a whole range of emotions, and he deserved to have them all. Separate from Sam. Separate from the billions that believed in him.

Maybe there was a way. Maybe Sam could tweak the parameters for how the tulpa worked, what belief he drew from. The tulpa had originally come into existence from the collective thoughts of a small group of people in the desert. They'd given him a purpose, but also immortality. After they had perished, he held no purpose but he retained his existence. His purpose became what _anyone_ with belief in Gabriel gave him. He had a strong source of power in all those believers, but that's not what he wanted. Not after he was told how dependent he really was to them.

He was sentient, and like most sentient creatures, he wanted a _choice_, some say in what he did and what _he_ believed.

So, Sam would give him one. The tulpa could do whatever he wanted. He didn't need all those prayers to exist, he merely existed. Those nameless billions held no sway over him, Sam did. And long after Sam was gone, he'd still go on. Because ideas can't be killed once realized. He could go on and make the world a better place, even if Sam couldn't.

And those wings of his? Better they have the ability to disappear, so that what had happened that night would never happen again.

Sam repeated his internal mantra. He knew from experience that the first time never worked and from lore that tulpas require intense, consistent meditation. He didn't move or let his thoughts stray, even after his legs had started to cramp and the sound of Dean pacing could be heard. He didn't even feel the skin under his palms start to warm as more time passed.

He did, however, feel the slight brush of breath that ghosted across his face.

"Um, Sam," Dean began, hesitant.

Sam pulled back a little and opened his eyes. This time, when he looked down into the tulpa's eyes, they were lively and focused. On him. As he hovered scant inches over him.

Sam jerked back and half rolled to the side in his attempt to clear the other's body. Personal space was a thing, and he didn't want to upset the tulpa by seemingly trapping his body with his own.

The tulpa's gaze and head followed him as Sam tried to settle himself on his knees beside him. His expression was mostly blank, save for that small shred of wonder Sam could just make out.

Now that he wasn't in his face, Sam could look at the tulpa's condition. Much to his relief, he seemed fine. The wounds that had marred his flesh and wings were gone. His feathers had grown back, not a speck of blood on them. Even his robe was clean again. The only thing that hadn't changed was the congealing pool of blood underneath him. Sam frowned at that, ridiculously worried about it wasting no time to seep back into the tulpa's clothes.

"Because that's not creepy at all," Dean mumbled. "I don't even know what I just witnessed."

At the sound of Dean's voice, the unbreaking focus the tulpa had on Sam broke. Worry clouded his eyes as he stared off into nothing, wings shifting closer to his back, blue once again being coated with dark red.

Sam frowned at the display and asked, "What's wrong?"

"The hunters," the tulpa spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "Where are they?"

"Swimming with the fishes," Gabriel answered. "Permanently. Well, at least until the bodies inevitably rise to the surface somewhere. Bet the authorities will have a grand ol' time figure out how _those two_ kicked the bucket."

The tulpa turned his head to frown at the Archangel. "You killed them?"

"You _didn't?_"

"The scythe wouldn't come. My powers wouldn't work." A shudder wracked his body, "I panicked."

Gabriel's smile was tight-lipped and sympathetic. "Yeah, Holy Fire will do that to ya. Especially when the two yahoos that have you trapped in it think you're a proper angel. 'Course, even after figuring out what you really were, the flames still kept you from usin' the scythe. Angel-based anything just shorts out with that stuff."

Gabriel stood and reached his hand out for the tulpa to take.

"Now how's about we get you out of your own bodily fluids, hm?"

The tulpa didn't react immediately, instead staring at Gabriel's hand like he didn't know what to make of it. After a few seconds, Gabriel huffed a laugh.

"Really? After all the trouble you went through to pray to me to save your dainty ass, you wanna try to snub my offer to help? I don't think so. Stow the pretense and c'mon."

Gabriel wiggled his hand, waiting. After giving him a slight frown, the tulpa took it. Gabriel hefted him to his feet perhaps faster than he should have. The tulpa's eyes widened in surprise from the sudden movement. He stumbled once after he made it to his feet. Gabriel smiled that devious smile of his and smacked the tulpa once on his shoulder, causing him to flinch.

Sam stood, as well. It was a relief to have the two of them not trying to kill each other and not throwing insults left and right, but something else needed to be addressed.

"You alright?" He asked. "Like… Like, you feel normal?"

I didn't fuck up? Is what he didn't ask.

The tulpa frowned as he stared into space. After a moment, he looked to Sam.

"I feel fine, but I can't… I can't hear the prayers anymore?"

At the admission, Gabriel's brow rose as he cut an equally proud and teasing look at him. The smirk meant he knew what Sam had tweaked. Sam shifted awkwardly because of it.

"Uh, yeah. I-I might've...made it so you only had to listen to me, or whatever. I mean, I remembered how you said you couldn't turn off the prayers, and that it made it harder to...do your own thing.

"Was that bad? I can probably change it back, if you want?"

The tulpa regarded him with curiosity, as if he couldn't figure out why Sam would do such a thing, but he didn't particularly seem bothered by it. No trace of anger showed on his face or from his wings, and with as volatile as the tulpa had shown himself to be, it would've been evident in a heartbeat. Sam considered that a win.

Dean, however, did not. He stepped towards them, finger raised and ready to scold.

"Whoa, wait, you did what now? Are you tellin' me you made this guy go from being dependent on billions to being dependent on _you?_" He looked between all them, "Am I gonna have to worry about a second lovestruck Gabriel following us around? Because one's enough, Sam. They ain't Beanie Babies. You don't need to collect them all."

The three annoyed stares from his audience didn't deter him from continuing to wait for the answer to his question.

"I'm not lovestruck," the tulpa replied grumpily, almost offended.

"Also, Beanie Babies were so 90's," Gabriel added.

"Dean," Sam interjected, "you heard Gabriel. It was either let him lie there and wait for countless different errant thoughts reform him into...something, or have me do it. Look at it this way: Switching who has influence over him to one person - me - guarantees he'll be more predictable! Um. No offense?"

"I'll admit," the tulpa responded, "that I don't like the idea of someone having sway over me, but you _are_ only one person. And equally predictable. Unlike those…_other_ _hunters_, I know you mean me no harm. Could be worse."

Dean squinted at the tulpa, "What do you mean it 'could be worse?' That sounds like you're implying Sam's not that great, either. He just saved your sorry ass - "

The squint was matched, "He's definitely greater than _you_."

Dean drew his head back, eyebrows raised, stunned at the blatant disrespect and slight aggression shown towards him. He opened his mouth, no doubt to sass back at the tulpa, but Gabriel cleared his throat.

"Guys. Not that this isn't entertaining and that I don't love bonding with new allies, but, uh, I don't know if you've noticed this: We're standing right near where the waters parted, and should the news vans show up anytime now, scramblin' to figure out what the hell just went down, _we're made_. 'specially Indigo over here."

"Why do you continue to insult me if you consider me an ally?"

"He does that with everyone," Sam explained, earning a smile and nod from Gabriel as confirmation.

Dean shook his head, dismissing the whole situation and conversation for the reason Gabriel had given. They _did_ need to flee the scene of the crime, as they had many times, to avoid awkward questions that they had no good answers for.

"Right," he began. "Job done. I think. I say we go get that grub, head back to the hotel, pack, and head out first thing in the morning. What're you gonna do, uh, Gabriel Junior?"

The tulpa's nose curled in distaste at the nickname, as did Gabriel's, but neither brought it up. The tulpa looked over to Sam, questioning. Sam shrugged. He may have influenced the tulpa, projected his thoughts onto him, but he wasn't about to start ordering him around.

"I don't know," the tulpa eventually replied.

"Well, that's a good start!" Dean smiled, half-mocking. "Good luck with that. Sam, Gabriel Senior - "

Gabriel groaned.

" - hop in the car. Also, someone clean this mess up? One o' you Gabes, since y'all can just snap and there it goes."

He turned and walked back towards the Impala, shape soon falling into shadow. Even with the moon as bright as it was, night visibility was only so great. The sound of a snap told Sam just which Gabriel had decided to follow Dean's order.

When Gabriel stopped beside Sam, he stated, "Y'know, back in the beginning, I distinctly remember telling you two I _wasn't_ going to be sweeping up your messes."

"You like it."

Gabriel blew a raspberry and continued on his way. He left Sam behind, and Sam got the feeling he did so intentionally.

"You _sure_ you're gonna be alright?" He addressed the tulpa. "I mean, Dean might have a cow, but if you need to, you could come with us. At least until you figure some things out."

"Is that an order?"

"No."

The tulpa smiled, though it was an uncertain little thing. Sam recognized the expression from his own experiences.

"It's odd," the tulpa continued, "having a sense of freedom and not knowing what to do with it. For so long, I've had nothing but the wills of others telling me what to do, what to think, and I've happily obeyed. Yet, now, I have only the instinct - no doubt given to me by you - to do whatever I want. Only, I don't know what I want, or even who I am. I don't feel like Gabriel. I'm _a _Gabriel, but not _the_ Gabriel. Is it supposed to be this confusing?"

"What? Existing?" Sam smiled. "Yeah, generally. Hell, I haven't even figured it all out yet. Most people don't. They just...try to live their life to the fullest. Whatever that means to them."

"And what's it mean to you?"

Sam's answer came quicker and easier than he thought it would.

"Try to do as much good as I can. Save people, make 'em happy." He huffed a laugh, "Pretty sappy stuff, but. It keeps me going more often than not."

The tulpa gave him a contemplative stare. Sam looked away from it when he heard the Impala's horn honk, blasting Dean's impatience into the night air. He turned back and gave the tulpa an apologetic look.

"Guess that's my cue. Take care, alright? Next time you run into some hunters that wanna put you down: Defend yourself. Holy Fire shouldn't work on you anymore, so. Keep that scythe handy."

He took a few steps towards the car, only to be grabbed by the wrist. He frowned over his shoulder at the surprisingly earnest face the tulpa was giving him.

"If you ever pray to me." He paused to correct himself. "To _Gabriel_, and I happen to hear, if you're in trouble, is it okay if I aid you?"

The request seemed odd to him. Mostly because he didn't really see himself praying to Gabriel anytime soon. He didn't really have a need, since the Archangel was with him pretty much 24/7. Calling out his name seemed just fine to get his attention. However, there was that _earnestness_ the tulpa was giving off.

"Yeah, I guess. Why?"

"Because I want to help."

With that answer, the tulpa was gone. Sam jerked at the suddenness of his disappearance. He looked around for a moment, as if he could sense the other if he tried hard enough. He couldn't, of course, so he filed away the tulpa's strange behavior and finally rejoined Dean and Gabriel.

They didn't see the tulpa again that night, or the next morning before they left. Sam was only a little disappointed over it. Mostly, he was just glad the other'd been able to continue on. Their journey to Manhattan hadn't been to ruin a good thing, after all. And he was okay with that.

He also may have stealthily destroyed the angel feather supply in the back of the Impala. If they had need of them for a spell later on down the road, Sam would just have to awkwardly ask an angel for one. Like Cas. Or Gabe. At least, then, he'd know where they came from.

* * *

**A/N: **I apologize for any feels I have given. But only marginally.

I accomplished a lot I set out to do with these characters within this chapter, so huzzah for me. I also would like to mention that I wrote a prequel to this fic and that you should read it to better understand Gabriel's character as well as important hints for later chapters. If I can't link to it, the title is _Runaway_ and can be found via my profile/works.

Comments, reviews, and questions are highly sought. Feed me.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Thus ends the MoTW portion of the story, and on to the shitstorm that follows. I am screaming in panic. I am not ready. I will never be ready. Yolo. Props to the people that actually took the few minutes it takes to review the ten-thousand words of text that took them way longer to read. Your feedback is the source of strength for many writers. Never forget that.

You may notice I change up a lot of the canon dialogue. That's because it's boring to copy-paste canon dialogue. So! I mean, sometimes I don't, but it serves a purpose. All part of the plan.

Songs worth mention: "Do or Die" by Thirty Seconds to Mars and "Where Is The Love?" by the Black Eyed Peas.

* * *

They'd just left Ohio when they got the call from Castiel. It had gone to Sam's phone, a lucky thing since Dean was driving, his phone buried in his jeans' pocket. Sam answered the call with a smile. He did like hearing from Castiel, even if the angel _was_ just calling about a case. At least it meant his friend was doing well. Better off than he had been a few months ago, in any case.

"Hey, Cas," Sam spoke, his phone on speaker.

Dean's attention briefly drew from the road to glance down at the phone in Sam's hand before it snapped back. Gabriel made an uncomfortable noise from the backseat. Sam turned in his seat to look at him. Gabriel's suffering pout seemed to have only gotten worse the longer they'd traveled. By the time they got back to Lebanon, Sam suspected the Archangel would be in the floorboard, having sunk to it out of boredom and a petty display of his ire towards the Winchesters. He really did _hate_ long car rides. It wasn't just an excuse to try and get out of riding with Dean.

"Hello, Sam," Cas greeted. "Any news on the creature in Manhattan?"

"Yeah," Dean answered instead. "Tulpa."

"A tulpa?" Cas asked. He sounded both confused and intrigued.

"Of _Gabriel_," Dean added.

Gabriel groaned loudly in his throat. The backseat squeaked as he slid another inch downward. Sam smirked at him.

Cas was silent a moment, and Sam could picture his frown, before stating, "I don't understand how that's possible."

"Let's just say a group of monks were really devoted to an Archangel that refused to show up, and whatever forces that be decided to give them the next best thing," Sam explained.

He didn't want to go into _more_ detail, to recount the tale Gabriel had given him three nights ago. It was a dark spot in Gabriel's past, he knew. On a deep level, one that Gabriel liked to hide, it probably tore at him that he'd accidentally become the reason a whole group of innocent people had been slaughtered. Sam would let that sleeping dog lie, especially since there was a chance his brother, or Castiel, would zero in on Gabriel's involvement and say something too harsh.

"He is _so_ not the next best thing," Gabriel quipped. "He's, like, five levels beneath the next best thing."

"So, did you destroy him?" Castiel questioned, serious as usual.

Sam frowned, "No. Cas, he wasn't a bad guy. Or a monster. He was just...confused. We cleared up a few things. Sent him on his way."

Another pregnant pause followed, this one gaining a confused look from even Dean.

"But we saw what he did to the East River. It was all over the news. A lot of video was captured on people's cell phones. They say it's gone...viral? I've been informed that means it's very popular on the Internet."

Sam and Dean both turned in their seat to stare back at Gabriel. Dean, of course, soon refaced the front. Didn't want to end up in the ditch just because the Archangel in the backseat needed a stern glare of admonishment. Sam doubled his efforts in Dean's stead. Gabriel didn't look nearly as scolded as he should have.

"Though, I'm not quite sure why such a phenomenon has been coined 'viral.' Unless, of course, it refers to the quick rate of infection most viruses are known for."

"That wasn't the tulpa, Cas," Dean interrupted. "That was Gabriel. As in: The _real_ Gabriel. We ran into some trouble, and he decided Moses was a good role model to emulate. And I told _you_, assfeathers, that it'd come back to bite you in the ass."

Gabriel made a face at the back of Dean's head. Sam gave him a firm look in return. Gabriel frowned.

"What!" He shouted in his defense. "Angel hunters wanted a piece of the divine, I gave it to 'em! Who cares if it was caught on tape? So were the angels Falling. Told you then, 'll tell ya now: It'll be explained away." He shrugged dismissively, "So a few fanatics out there might recommit to their faith, start spoutin' how the Lord's a-comin'. Big deal! They do that when a rainbow appears in the sky, these days."

Silence plagued the trio in the car before Castiel spoke again. He did not sound pleased.

"One moment," he commanded.

Sam and Dean frowned at one another, but then Sam's brain finally registered the faint background noises he could hear coming through Castiel's phone. That's right, he remembered, Castiel was in charge of some angels now, holed up who-knew-where, as they focused their efforts on Metatron and Gadreel. He suspected Castiel was in the process of finding a more _private_ area to talk to them in. Especially since the topic of discussion was an Archangel that didn't want news of his survival to be known to all of Heaven on Earth.

After the sound a heavy door shutting, Castiel inhaled deeply.

"_Gabriel,_" he growled, scolding.

"_Castiel,_" Gabriel taunted back, guilt-free.

"The whole purpose of you traveling with the Winchesters was to avoid detection by Metatron, wasn't it? What did you - " Castiel paused to compose himself then continued, "What did you think was going to happen when he caught wind of your _little trick?_"

"He has a point, Gabe," Sam added quietly.

Even if he _hadn't_ been guilty of leaving the protective sigil Gabriel had carved back in the hotel room the night they'd gone to rescue the tulpa, every video and news report of the East River incident would be the biggest tip-off to the weasley bastard that Gabriel - or some equally powerful entity - was in Manhattan. At the time, he doubted Gabriel had even given it thought, so careful as he was to stay hidden to the angels. He'd let his anger get the best of him, played too big, and he might suffer for it yet.

The thought simultaneously bothered Sam and filled him with dread. Gabriel had come so far, recovered from the Fall and Metatron's mistreatment to the point he _could_ part a large body of water like it was nothing and not feel a drain afterwards. He didn't want Metatron knocking him back down again. Or worse.

Gabriel, however, scoffed lightly at them and rolled his eyes. He half glared out of the backseat window like _it_ was the thing getting onto him for his behavior.

"He can only track my trail to New York," Gabriel replied. "Long gone from there, bro. Not worried."

"Well, then," Castiel challenged. "If you're not so bothered about being discovered: Dean, I need you and Sam to come where I am. I have a job for you."

"Sure thing - " Dean began.

"Whoa, ho, ho! Hey, now!" Gabriel interjected, leaping forward in his seat to talk directly into the phone. "I'm still on this ride."

"And?" Dean and Castiel asked together.

Dean's tone was more snappish, most likely annoyed that Gabriel thought his opinion mattered as to just where Dean chose to drive his car. Castiel's, on the other hand, had sounded rhetorical. Sam knew why. It was for the same reason Gabriel was getting upset. Sam chose to keep his mouth shut, awkwardly scratching at the back of his head as he pretended to not exist.

Gabriel threw up his hands, "And! There are angels crawling all over that joint like ants on a biscuit. _I'm dead!_ As far as they know. And might just wind up that way, if someone gets a li'l stab happy!"

"Gabriel," Dean said slowly. "The only thing that can kill you is an Archangel blade. Which only you have. Hell, I'm not even sure that my old threat of dousing you in holy oil and lighting you on fire will work. Didn't with Michael."

Gabriel was momentarily speechless. "You lit my brother _on fire?_"

"He was trying to kill the planet!" Dean defended.

"Technically, I only threw a molotov at him. Then, Lucifer exploded me," Castiel clarified.

Gabriel turned his gobsmacked expression towards Sam, "I thought you said you dragged my brothers back into the Cage?"

"I did." Sam agreed. "...After that. But I told you that, too. Er, your _Grace_ that?"

Gabriel frowned, eyes drifting up as he tried to recall what Sam was talking about. Soon, he waved his hand and shook his head.

"Yeah, that stuff all kinda blended together like a fever dream. _Any_way, as I was sayin': Angels. There. Bad for me. Me no likey."

"Oh?" Castiel inquired, full of sarcasm. "I don't see how they bother you, Gabriel, if _Metatron_ knowing of your status doesn't."

Gabriel's demeanor shifted almost instantly. Before, he seemed like his normal self. His mannerisms were the Gabriel Sam knew best. Now, however, his features hardened into that being Sam was just now starting to experience more frequently. The _Archangel_ held an intensity in his eyes and body language that commanded obedience and fear. Not fright, not the modern-day definition of the word, but the Biblical version. Fear in the sense of reverence, for all that he was.

Anyone who saw Gabriel with the expression he wore now, not knowing any other aspects about him, would never conceive him of being a jokester.

The roar of the Impala's engine suddenly died, earning a, "What the fuck?" from Dean as he lifted his hands from the wheel in confusion. Quickly, they found their way back, to steer the car over to the side of the road without incident. It took him only a few seconds, as he put the gear in park, to figure out who the culprit was.

"Dude, did you just _shut off my car?_" He demanded, heatedly glaring into the backseat at Gabriel.

Gabriel ignored him for the phone in Sam's hand.

"You listen to me, Castiel. Metatron is one thing. I can deal with him. But all those _sheep_ bleating at you for guidance? When I step foot in whatever rock you've chosen to hide under, they're going to turn on me like piranhas. I'm an _Archangel_. The only one left. On _sight_, I'm a better commander than you. I'll be damned if I listen to them beg me to lead the charge against Metatron's forces. I won't be part of that massacre!"

His last sentence was shouted, more emotion slipping out than what was probably meant to. Sam had rarely seen him let his guard down like that. Not since they'd cornered him during the Apocalypse. Not in front of Dean.

Sam recalled what Gabriel had told them then, what he already knew. Gabriel couldn't stand fighting amongst angels. He removed himself entirely from the situation when things had gotten bad. Dean had chalked him up as being a coward, and a small part of Sam had agreed with him. The larger part, however, knew that to 'abandon' family like that was only done under extreme duress.

Back then, Sam had suspected that Gabriel had fled Heaven to protect himself. Now, after learning of Gabriel from the Archangel himself, he knew it was to protect the angels. He took his power out of the equation, he gave away his weapons, and he exiled himself from his own home. The brothers he loved would never see him again.

Because he feared himself a weapon to be used against them. Just as Michael and Lucifer had been destined, by God, to kill one another, Gabriel had been given his Horn to rally the troops. He was meant to help fight a war he didn't believe in.

"Gabriel," Sam began, but Castiel cut him off.

"I'm not leading them into battle, Gabriel. I'm trying - " He took a breath. "I'm trying to keep them _from_ fighting."

"Okay." Dean nodded once. "Great plan, Cas. Only problem is: They're angels. Fighting is just what they _do_."

"It used to not be," Castiel replied. "We used to have a mission. We were meant to be united under it. ...I don't know of many that remember that."

"Pretty words," Gabriel muttered. "Doesn't mean you have the power to pull it off."

"Yeah, well. At least I'm trying. Look: I called because I need help with a captive. An angel under Metatron. As I said before, I don't want anymore bloodshed. I'm trying to show the angels under _my_ command a different way of handling things."

"So you want _us_ to beat it out of him for you," Dean guessed.

Sam frowned at his brother, "Kinda defeats the point of not resorting to bloodshed by immediately causing bloodshed, Dean."

Dean shrugged, as if to ask what other possible reason Castiel could have for wanting them to talk to the angel. Sam had a clue, but he was more worried about Dean, once again, hopping onto the violence bandwagon. The last time they'd interrogated an angel, it had been Gadreel, and Dean had nearly killed the guy.

Not that Sam would have mourned the asshole that had killed Kevin, or anything, but he _had_ been the best source of information regarding Metatron. That was the main reason they had captured him in the first place, revenge only an afterthought. But not to Dean, the Mark on his arm making his anger worse. Sam could still remember the chill he'd received when he'd rushed back to that abandoned building, needing Gadreel as a bargaining tool to get Castiel back, only to find him missing from his chair and a pool of blood on the floor.

Maybe asking Dean to help in a similar situation was a bad idea.

"I only want you to _question_ him," Castiel clarified, backing up Sam's hunch. "You two have far more experience in such things than I, or any of these angels, do. Plus, he won't talk to us. He's too careful to reveal information to the enemy. However, I have a feeling you'll be able to trick him into revealing something."

"Need I point out the irony of that sentence with _me_ involved?" Gabriel mumbled, emotionless.

"We'll do what we can Cas," Sam said. "Where are you?"

"I'll send you the coordinates. It's easier that way."

"Alright."

"Good-bye, Sam. Dean. ...Gabriel."

The phone beeped as Castiel disconnected the call. Sam brought his phone closer to him, waiting for the text he knew was coming soon, but he didn't focus on it. He, instead, turned his attention back towards Gabriel.

The Archangel had resumed his former position, sunk down in the backseat with his arms crossed and a lifeless stare directed out the window to his left. His walls were working their way back up, distancing him from the gravity of what he felt awaited him.

Dean's eyes glanced up to stare at the rear view mirror, at Gabriel.

"You wanna let me turn my car on now? Or you gonna continue to pout like a kindergarten that's been told he can't get any ice cream from the ice cream truck?"

Cold eyes slid from the window to meet Dean's in the mirror, "I have half a mind to pop all four of her tires and bust the engine block."

"It'll be the last thing you ever do."

Sam's phone beeped again with the sound of a message received. He ignored it. He sighed at the other two.

Dean liked playing hard when trying to motivate someone into doing something. Harsh words were sometimes what was needed to kickstart someone into taking action, but that didn't work on everyone. It sure as hell didn't work on Gabriel. Either Dean hadn't figured that out, in the full month they'd had Gabriel traveling with them, or he simply didn't give a damn.

"Guys, knock it off," he scolded. "Look, Gabriel, I know why you don't wanna go. You've said it plainly enough. And I get it. You're right, the angels are probably going to swarm you and follow you around like ducklings. But… You said it yourself, you're an Archangel. If you're afraid they're gonna wanna defer to your leadership, instead of sticking with Castiel, merely show them that _you're_ following Castiel."

Gabriel didn't respond. He did nothing but stare, hard, back at Sam. So, Sam continued.

"Think about it. Right now, Castiel's gathering an army. They're following him for a reason. If you go in there and back him up? That'll only strengthen their view of him, right? And, if they continue to pester you, just... Show off! Like you did back in Manhattan. I mean, don't be as homicidal about it, but."

Dean added, "Just because Castiel's playing the pacifist don't mean you can't put the fear of God in somebody."

Tense silence filled the car before a blink broke Gabriel's stare. With it, the Impala's engine turned over. Dean's shoulders relaxed. Sam hadn't even realized he'd been that stiff. Gabriel shrugged noncommittally as he looked away from Sam.

"I'm not responsible for who I put through a wall. Or glue to the floor. Warnin' ya now."

Sam gave a little smile before finally looking at the text Castiel had sent. Plugging the coordinates into Google Maps brought up an address in Cleveland, Ohio. Just their luck, they'd recently left Columbus. Plotting their route was a few simple taps.

"Mind cluing me into where I'm goin', poindexter?" Dean asked.

Sam looked up from his phone, "Oh, right. Cas is in Cleveland. The, um, Central Municipal Power Corp. Take OH-4 East, just up the road. We'll be there in about three-and-a-half hours."

"Wow," Gabriel drawled. "Angels. Pretending to work for a power company. Color me surprised. Tell me somethin': How often are you boys in Ohio? 'Cause I'm gettin' a little tired of coming back here."

Dean put the Impala in gear, waited for a car to pass, and then merged back onto the Interstate.

"Are you going to complain the entire way there?" He questioned, the resigned tone in his voice clearly stating he already knew the answer.

"You're dragging me to an unwanted family reunion, upending my entire life - _again_. Why, yes. Yes, I do believe I will complain the entire way to Lake Erie. Thank you for asking, Dean-o. Very considerate of you."

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Forget I asked."

* * *

Turned out the Central Municipal Power Corp. was a non-descript building on a less-than-busy street. At one point in time, a large sign had been bolted onto the front, no doubt announcing what business resided within. Now, all that was left was a blank space that was a lighter color than the rest of the weathered exterior. Driving by, with no prior knowledge of the building, no one would've been able to guess what it was.

Perfect hiding spot in plain sight, Sam had to admit.

Dean wasted no time in getting out of the car. He was there for business, and Gabriel's sour mood had infected both him and Sam. Contrary to his earlier threat, Gabriel had remained quiet for most of the journey, his complaints less abrasive than Sam had feared they would be. Mostly just remarks about Dean's taste in music, a billboard that advertised a business he loathed, and the sheer amount of time it took to drive anywhere, even when going five to ten miles over the speed limit.

Unlike Dean, Sam remained where he was. He looked back over his shoulder to gauge Gabriel's reaction.

Gabriel had chosen a very interesting spot on the back of Dean's seat to stare at, eyes hardened and whole body tense. Even knowing Sam was looking at him, his gaze didn't so much as twitch. Every fiber of his being screamed to Sam that he didn't want to move, he didn't want to face what awaited him.

Sam felt for him, he did, but he also had come to a realization in the three-some-odd hours drive to where they were. One he felt he should share with Gabriel, before they entered Castiel's new base of operations.

"Gabe," he spoke gently. "I know that revealing yourself, after so many years of playing dead, is going to kickstart a chain of events that neither one of us really knows the outcome of, but… They're going to find out one way or another, sooner or later."

Gabriel's eyes finally slid up to meet his, some of Gabriel's fear shining through.

"Metatron found you. Gadreel knows of your survival. So does Cas. That thing with Manhattan?" Sam nervously licked his lips. "There're enough hints. Moreso on the enemy's side. So… Do you want your cover blown under your own terms, or do you want somebody else to expose you? Because there's no telling what the angels will think if, I don't know, Metatron decides to paint you as the last remaining Archangel that abandoned them all."

Gabriel frowned, Sam's words cutting a little too deep.

"Don't give him that power," Sam attempted to explain better.

With a deep sigh, Gabriel tried to relax. He failed, but he'd tried.

"I'm not ready, Sam," he mumbled towards the floorboard, that mask of his hanging on by a thread.

Sam shrugged lightly and gave him a small smile of reassurance.

"I wasn't really ready to get possessed by Lucifer and then throw him back in the Cage, but I tried anyway."

"Touché," Gabriel replied. His hand finally found the door handle and popped it open. "And, with that, I will drag my sorry ass out of this vehicle and face my fears screaming like a goose."

He got one foot out of the car before he turned to point at Sam, "Still not gonna be held responsible for anybody I coldclock because they looked at me funny."

The smile on Sam's face spread into a grin as he shook his head, "Wouldn't blame you if you did."

He followed after Gabriel, not surprised to find Dean waiting impatiently at the start of the ramp leading to a side door. Said door Castiel had told them to go in, the front having long been boarded up when the place had been shut down. Dean asked no questions about what took them so long. The look he gave Sam, and then Gabriel, clearly conveyed he knew the reason why.

It felt like a small miracle that Dean was taking it easy on Gabriel. Even though their relationship had improved, slightly, Dean was Dean. Archangel or not, his brother rarely held back his tongue or his opinion. Though, Sam suspected the temporary truce was brought on more inpart because Gabriel had threatened injury to his car and less about a sense of empathy and compassion. Smart move, regardless the reason.

Gabriel let Sam ahead of him as they followed Dean the short distance to the door. Dean reached out to knock. It opened without him needing to.

The door swung open quickly, revealing a young man wearing a suit completely colored maroon. Dean jerked back at the suddenness, glowering at the stern face that stared back at him. Sam, on the other hand, was trying to wrap his head around the man's outfit. _Angel's_ outfit, he reminded himself. Seriously, that was entirely too much of one color.

"If you'll follow me, the Commander - "

The angel trailed off as his eyes raked across Dean, Sam, and finally landed on Gabriel. Instantly, his demeanor shifted, but not in the way Sam thought it would. No surprise or respect showed in the body language he directed towards Gabriel. His shoulders squared as he narrowed his eyes almost contemptuously. Sam felt Gabriel bristle behind him, a slight shift of static in the air.

"You're dead," the angel stated.

"Ha!" Gabriel crowed. He made a show of patting his torso, looking down at himself with mock confusion. "Really? 'Cause I coulda swore a heartbeat and proper respiratory functions meant somethin' else."

The angel glared at Gabriel a second longer before his gaze jumped back to Dean.

"I was only told to allow you and Sam Winchester entry. Castiel made no mention of _Gabriel_."

"Yeah, well, he's with us, so," Dean replied.

"He probably didn't tell you about Gabriel because it's sensitive information," Sam added quickly, earning an unimpressed stare from the angel. "I mean… I'm sure he trusts _you_, but. Accidents happen?"

"Eaves are dropped," Dean continued.

The angel considered them momentarily before stating, "Very well. I will permit all _three_ of you to enter. However, let it be known that, _if_ the Commander tells me otherwise: I will not hesitate to throw you out."

With that said, he gave one last harsh glance to Gabriel, turned, and lead them into the hallway. They followed, of course, but not without first giving each other very confused and slightly bothered looks. The further they got into the building, the more the atmosphere changed.

Sure, there was the increasing sounds of chatter and movement, papers rustling and phones going off. Just another busy day at the office was the feeling Sam got. But there was also the increasing number of turning heads. One angel even paused in the hallway to stare wide-eyed at Gabriel, papers in their hand easily forgotten.

Sam looked to Gabriel, worried, and wasn't shocked to find the Archangel stoutly ignoring every pair of eyes boring into him.

It seemed like he hadn't been wrong about the angels. They _were_ starting to zero in on him. Angels could recognize each other on sight, something that still confused Sam a little. He wasn't sure what it was they read in each other, an energy reading or merely the shape of a halo, but _they knew_. Castiel had made him years ago, gaining him a piece of duct tape across his mouth to silence him. Now, all of Castiel's flock were coming to the same realization.

Sam was better understanding Gabriel's fear and reluctance.

So focused on Gabriel, he failed to notice Dean stopping before him. He bumped into him with a small grunt. Dean made a face at him. Sam smiled apologetically, finally noticing they'd stopped at an open door, and in the room within was Castiel.

"Sir," the angel announced.

Castiel turned, spotted them, and immediately grinned. Dean made it two steps into the room before Castiel was hugging him. Then came Sam's hug. Shockingly, Gabriel received the same treatment, though he didn't appear to be as pleased about it as Sam and Cas had been. Understandable, considering the stress Gabriel was trying desperately to ignore, and all because Castiel forced him into the situation. At least he accepted the hug, even if reluctantly. He wasn't _too_ upset with his younger brother, then.

Castiel drew away from Gabriel, smile on his face diminishing a little when he noticed the look on Gabriel's face. It wasn't wholly upset, not as it had been in the car. No, for some reason, Gabriel was squinting at Castiel, as if trying to suss something out. It seemed to unnerve Castiel, and he promptly turned his attention to the guard that had refused to leave the doorway.

"Um...dismissed," he nodded to the angel.

The angel hesitated a moment before finally obeying the command.

"He can be a little stuffy," Castiel explained, sounding as if he was trying to apologize.

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean muttered. "Dude didn't wanna let us in because you forgot to mention a certain _Archangel_ was accompanying us."

Castiel gave his crooked frown and shrugged, "I didn't want to risk word getting out too soon. They might've flooded the door waiting for you. Or...worse."

Sam took a quick glance around the room. The office itself was nothing worth note. Typical layout. Big, glass windows with aluminum blinds for privacy. Light-colored, wood paneling adding accent to the walls. It was the various papers taped and pinned to the walls, as well as the corkboard Castiel had been standing at previously, that drew his attention more. Surveillance photos, maps, books spread out on what must be Castiel's desk. Everything in the room was like a smaller version of what existed outside, where all the angels worked.

They were truly hunting Metatron and Gadreel. Not just with angelic ways, but old-school, human ways, too. Sam was stunned to see such a thing. He was impressed, too.

His approval of his surroundings was quickly derailed by Gabriel grabbing a hold of Castiel's wrist. The movement had been fast and sharp, spooking even Castiel as he quickly glanced down at Gabriel's hand. Castiel's gaze was lifted when Gabriel grabbed him forcefully by the chin to make him look him in the eyes.

Dean reacted before Sam did, clearly ready to physically remove Gabriel from their friend, but Sam practically lunged to catch him. Dean glared at him, jerking his elbow out of his Sam's grasp, and the look in his eyes uncomfortably reminded Sam of how he appeared when the Mark was affecting his rage. Sam mouthed at him to hold on.

"Gabriel, what's wrong?" Sam questioned, hoping something _was_ wrong and that Gabriel wasn't just _now_ releasing some of his pent up tension _on Cas_.

"Nothing," Castiel replied instead, words muffled slightly by Gabriel's grasp on his jaw.

Other than a weak attempt to break free of Gabriel, Castiel didn't show much discomfort, other than worry. Dean relaxed a little, perhaps picking up on what Sam had regarding the odd exchange between angels, but he was still frowning.

Gabriel continued to scrutinize his brother, mouth turned down in thought and disapproval. Soon, he let go of Castiel. Cas took a step away from him, worry still plain in his features. Gabriel looked grim.

"You may be warded, brother," Gabriel spoke slowly, "but you can't hide that Grace from _me_."

"Why?" Dean broke in, demanding. "What's that mean? What's wrong with his Grace? Or.._not_-his Grace?"

Gabriel cut his eyes to Dean, digesting that bit of information, before looking back to Castiel, "Once again, one o' you three yahoos don't _think_ before you act."

"I did what I had to," Castiel growled.

"_What's it mean?"_ Dean stressed, glaring between both of them in concern.

The door to the office swung shut of its own accord. Sam and Dean took a quick look at it before refocusing on the two angels in the room. Gabriel appeared to want privacy before he dropped his bombshell. Sam only grew more nervous. He had a funny feeling he wasn't going to like what Gabriel had to say.

"Castiel's stolen the Grace of another angel," Gabriel relayed. "Something that's not meant to be done. It's taboo. Not only for the implications of murder, but also because of what the foreign Grace does to the angel's body it's placed within."

"What, like-like a… Rejected organ?" Sam asked, dreading the answer.

"Okay, but," Dean interjected, "rejected organs - "

"Can kill you," Gabriel finished. He tilted his head back as he stared at Castiel, "You're burning out."

"God_dammit_, Cas!" Dean shouted, turning away to try and compose himself.

"I was being _tortured_, Dean!" Castiel yelled back. "It was either steal another's Grace and escape or die!"

"Well, now, you're still dyin'!"

"That's not fair," Sam threw at him.

Dean at least had the decency to look cowed at his brother's scolding. Sure, Dean was upset. They all were. None of them wanted Castiel to put himself in danger or suffer. But that didn't give Dean the green light to yell at him for a situation he couldn't have avoided, his own nerves be damned.

Sam faced Gabriel, "Is there no way to remove the Grace?"

The look Gabriel gave him was cooly contemplative, easily mistaken as apathetic. Castiel, however, stared at Sam in shock. After the words sunk in, Sam realized his friend probably thought he meant something darker than he had. Something like what Metatron had done to him.

"I just meant," he tried to explain, "that, with rejected organs, we take them out before they have the time to kill the host. Why wouldn't that work with the incompatible Grace? Keep you from completely burning out, or whatever it's doing to you?"

Castiel relaxed some, though he still looked dower.

"I _need_ to be an angel, Sam," he stressed. "I broke Heaven. Even if Metatron tricked me, I still gave him what he wanted, and it led to the Fall. Leading the angels, even if I don't want to, is the only way I know how to make things right. And they won't unite under me if I'm not one of them."

"Then, make Gabriel lead!" Dean exclaimed, emphatically motioning towards the Archangel with a wave of his arm.

Gabriel chuckled mirthlessly, "You can't _make_ me do anything. _Try again._"

"This isn't why I called you here," Castiel mumbled, hoping to derail the argument.

"Nope," Gabriel agreed. "Yet, here we are. Look fellas: The spell Metatron used to have the angels fall? It's been done before. By Pops. Used to ground Lucifer, in the literal sense. I know the ingredients, the formula, all that happy nonsense. Castiel's Grace? Wasn't used up."

For the first time in minutes, Sam felt a small sense of relief. If Castiel's Grace still existed, all they had to do was find it. Right? Find it and give it back, making the Grace currently within Cas obsolete. As with Gadreel's Grace that had been within him, perhaps Cas' would wipe the foreign clean.

Castiel was stunned, looking at Gabriel with wide eyes. He must have thought his true Grace was gone, just as they had. That he was doomed to burn out, giving his all for a cause he wasn't sure he could win. They hadn't been the only ones with problems. Castiel merely chose to suffer in silence, as he always had.

"What happened to it?" Dean asked. "Can we stick it back in?"

"Don't know, and yes," Gabriel replied. "Who knows where Metatron's hid it. Probably up his ass, considering how valuable it'll be to him."

"Can it undo - " Castiel began, hopeful.

"The spell? No. Not that simple. If it had been, Dad woulda risked other angels bringing Lucifer back to Heaven. However, as I said, if we get our hands on your Grace, an' we plug it back in, you go right back to being Castiel the Seraph."

"So, we find Metatron, kick his ass, get Cas' Grace back, and power him back up," Dean stated, as if it would be that easy.

"Good plan," Sam snarked. "Only: We don't know where Metatron or his portal are."

"Ezra might," Castiel suggested. "The angel I called you about? We have him in a warded, empty room. He's been in there since last night. He should know the location of both."

"What makes you so sure?" Dean questioned.

"Benjamin overheard him discussing his relationship with Metatron at a bar. Ezra boasted about it, apparently. It's how Benjamin and his partner, Mebabel, came to capture him."

Sam frowned, tilting his head, "Wait a minute. Benjamin? Didn't you tell me about that guy before? When I- When _we_ went to meet Gadreel?"

If he hadn't been such a good actor, well-acquainted with how to make his body respond the way he wanted it to, Sam would've blushed at his slip-up. It took more willpower than he cared to admit to not look over at Dean, terrified of him figuring out his blunder.

Weeks had passed since he'd taken that long drive to Texas, all in the hopes of stopping Gadreel from using the angel siren. As far as Sam knew, Dean was still blissfully unaware that he'd gone _alone_, and that Castiel, contrary to what Sam'd told Dean, had _not_ gone with him.

Sam prayed it stayed that way. Especially now, when they had no time to fight over hair-brained ideas and their mutual knack for secrecy.

Castiel saw the look in Sam's eyes and nodded once, "Yes. He's also the angel that escorted you to my office."

"Ah!" Dean affirmed. "Mr. Stuffy. Benjamin, huh? Not used to the grunts having names…"

Castiel frowned, "They all have names."

"Yeah, no, I know that. I… Nevermind."

"Right," Sam interjected. "Listen, Cas, we'll take a go at this Ezra, try and see what he _really_ knows, if anything. You gonna be okay in the meantime?"

"I feel fine, Sam. The failing of my Grace? ...It's slow, as far as I can tell."

"So long as you do nothing taxing, like grand displays of power or healing," Gabriel added.

Castiel frowned at him, annoyed. Gabriel _was_ the reason his little secret had been let out of the bag.

If Gabriel had said nothing about what he'd sensed wrong with Castiel, no doubt their friend would've kept quiet about it. Hell, he probably would've taken all information about his ailing condition to the grave with him. Castiel didn't really like bothering the Winchesters. Not unless he had no other option. With as often as _they_ depended on _him_, Sam kind of wished he would lean on them more. Even if it was simply for them to return the favor.

Castiel led them back down the hall, no doubt taking them to where the angels were keeping Ezra. The walk was relatively short, as far as walking from one end of an office building to another could be, but it gave Sam just enough time to think.

His friend was, essentially, dying.

He used to contemplate the Grace Castiel had stumbled upon, how it'd given him his powers back. Sam had never heard of such a thing before. He wasn't even sure many angels had, either. Yet, Sam had wondered, back when'd he found out, if the Grace would reject Castiel. After all, it belonged to a completely different angel. Such fear was what had kept him from, initially, agreeing to tell Castiel about _Gabriel's_ Grace months ago.

Yet, Castiel had made no mention of negative side effects. He hadn't acted ill or off when he and Sam had stayed together in the Bunker, trying to track down Gadreel only to fail. Then, with all the crap that was thrown at them since, Sam forgot all about the strangeness of what Castiel had done to re-angelify. For once, he stopped worrying about something. Prematurely.

He scolded himself over not figuring out Castiel's problem sooner, and he was grateful that Gabriel had when he did. But, then, came Gabriel's near-command to Castiel. No displays of power. No _healing_.

Sam gasped shortly, his gaze snapping to Castiel's back.

Castiel had healed him. After Gadreel was cast out, Cas had stayed behind to make sure he healed properly. It'd taken them many sessions, a gradual healing, to completely be rid of the internal burns Sam had received from the Word. Then, there'd been the final push, when Sam's determination to find Gadreel and avenge Kevin, to atone for having been used as the weapon that killed him, had forced Castiel to heal him the rest of the way.

Castiel had traded his health for Sam's.

Sam jumped when he felt a tug on the back of his jacket. He looked over his shoulder, brow furrowed, to see Gabriel's stare.

Gabriel was frowning at him, concern evident in his eyes, but there was also this sense of command. As if he were silently trying to tell Sam to stop worrying. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done so. That was shortly after they'd rescued him, when Gabriel had told him he _looked_ for reasons to guilt-trip himself.

Sam tried to give him a reassuring smile. It didn't reach his eyes, but it was better than the dejected look he knew had been forming on his face.

Gabriel seemed to relax a little. His eyes moved from Sam to the people in front. Then, he frowned again, this time with humor. He pulled Sam back by his jacket, though with more force than before.

Sam stumbled back a step, was steadied by Gabriel's hand, and then faced front. He'd almost run into Dean. Again. He probably should start paying attention to where he was going, instead of letting his mind and eyes wander.

Castiel nodded to the mostly-plain, gray door he'd stopped before. The only markings on it came from the angel warding on the narrow window. The door itself was heavy, metal. Certainly a shift from the open, bright offices that resided on the first floor. Sam was unsure what the room had been before the angels had gotten a hold of it, but considering they were underground, he figured it might've simply been a storage closet of some sort. Bigger than most, but what did he know of how Central Municipal Power Corp. managed their cleaning supplies and spare tools? The Men of Letters stored case files in similarly bizarre locales, so he couldn't judge.

The thickness of the door might come in handy, however. Harder for captives to bust out. Smart choice.

"I won't go in with you," Castiel stated. "Being the enemy commander, he's not really fond of me. In fact, I'm pretty positive he's terrified of me. However, I'll stay nearby. Just in case you two need me."

"Two?" Dean questioned.

Castiel tilted his head, "Of course. Gabriel can't go in. The angel warding will affect him just the same as it does Ezra. Plus, I was under the assumption he didn't want his cover blown. Having him seen by one of Metatron's men seems foolish."

"Except that Metatron already knows he exists, and that he's free. Hell, probably even knows he's travelling with us."

"Yes, but he doesn't know where you are."

"It's safer if I stay out here," Gabriel interceded. "Plus, if you think him being terrified of Castiel's enough to stop his gob? I'm sure you can imagine what he'd do upon being faced with a not-so-dead Archangel."

"Shit himself?" Sam playfully supplied.

"Mm, yeah. Sounds about right."

Dean shook his head, "Fine. Whatever. Let's just do this and find out where the flying assmonkey is."

"Thank you," Cas said sincerely. "I'm glad you agreed to help. I wouldn't - "

"Save it for when we get results, Cas," Dean replied.

Castiel quickly moved back, Dean's hand already reaching for the door handle. Sam followed him into the room, making sure to shut the door behind him.

Ezra didn't look like an angel at all. At least, he looked nothing like the angels Sam and Dean were used to dealing with. He wore no business suit to make himself look important. He didn't have the body language of a person with a huge amount of ego. His Vessel had the appearance of someone who was a cross between a nerd and a hipster, someone Dean would readily make fun of in any other situation.

Overall, Sam was unimpressed. He had trouble believing that _this_ was the angel giving Cas so much trouble.

However, when Ezra looked up at them, his demeanor shifted. Confidence showed in his slight smile and the way he held his head high. _Over_confidence. Cockiness. So, the angel _did_ have an ego, just one with nothing to back it up. He probably wore bravado like armor.

"You're wasting your time," Ezra informed them with ease. "I have nothing to say."

"We disagree," Dean replied.

Sam saw his brother's hand reach for the angel blade hidden in his jacket. He quickly grabbed hold of Dean's elbow, stopping him. Dean frowned at him. Sam shook his head no, then smiled. Dean caught on, nodding his head once in affirmation.

"There's no use torturing me," Ezra continued, haughty. "_I _am a trained commando. It won't work."

"Really?" Sam asked. "A _trained_ commando? Hmm. So, do _trained_ commandos usually go around revealing their side's secrets in a bar? I mean, I get the feeling they don't, but I could be wrong."

"No," Dean considered. "No, I think you're right. That definitely doesn't sound like something anyone with brass would do."

"Right, right. So, either that means Ezra here _isn't_ a trained commando, or Metatron's not all that competent."

"And considering how we've been going toe-to-toe with Metatron for months now…"

"Kinda think Ezra might be lying. 'Cause, if he was a big shot like he wants us to believe, he'd be up in Heaven with Metatron."

"Yup."

"What if I'm a decoy? Or in deep cover?" Ezra questioned, his confidence wilting into a plea for acknowledgement.

"Yeah, uh-huh," Sam nodded. "Look, we get it. Metatron's a big player right now, what with the only way up to Heaven under his wings - "

Surprise flickered across Ezra's face, "How'd you know about the portal?"

"Who _doesn't_ know about the portal?" Dean countered. "So, anyway, you hear about how well-off the guy is, figure you'll get a few pats on the back from your peers if you go around tellin' them you _actually_ met the guy, even though you didn't."

"I did meet him!" Ezra exclaimed. He proudly wiggled in his chair. "I was interviewed personally by Metatron for a key post."

"And you're not at said 'key post' because?" Sam asked.

"He got passed over," Dean leaned over to murmur to Sam.

"I-I was a finalist!"

Sam clicked his tongue, "To be so close and then get kicked downstairs? Sucks to be you."

"Hardly anybody was chosen! And ground forces is still a very important assignment. It was an honor to have even been considered for the squad."

Sam paused. It wasn't for long, but it was a pause nonetheless. He'd caught the wording Ezra had used. Hardly anybody was chosen. A squad. Sounded like Metatron was planning something. Of course, when _wasn't_ Metatron planning something, but Sam had a feeling what Ezra was hinting at was _big._

"What kind of squad?" Sam questioned.

"It's a highly guarded secret," Ezra answered, once again perking up. He'd noticed Sam's interest in the topic.

"Right. Because you're known for keeping secrets," Dean sassed.

Ezra looked to Dean. Dean stared back. All three of them knew Ezra wasn't keeping his mouth shut because he was _finally_ learning how to be tactful. He didn't spill the beans because he couldn't.

"Wait. Clarify this for me," Sam began. "You desperately wanted this job, but you didn't know what it was?"

"Well, until you were chosen, the exact nature of the mission was kept a secret," Ezra mumbled.

"Wow," Dean remarked. "Just...wow."

"And… Hardly anyone was chosen."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. He turned on his heels and left the room, Dean right behind him. Sam understood why Ezra hadn't been accepted by Metatron for whatever position the Scribe was offering him. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the bunch, and Metatron tended to stick with cunning angels that could keep up with his nefarious plans. Even if aforementioned angels didn't fully understand what it was Metatron had planned for them, as was the case with Castiel. Metatron wasn't going to risk someone like Ezra blabbing about his plans.

Sam frowned at the thought, his expression keenly picked up by Gabriel, who was waiting with Castiel at the end of the hall.

"Any luck?" Castiel asked, hopeful.

"No," Dean replied. "Guy's dumber than a box of rocks. Spilled everything but where Metatron is. Or, should I say, where the portal is. Of course, that may be because _someone_ decided to walk out of the room before we had time to ask."

Dean turned his head to face Sam, judgmental and annoyed. He wanted Sam to explain himself. Sam, brow furrowed, shrugged at him. Something else was bothering him, his earlier train of thought running away with him.

"What're you thinkin'?" Gabriel inquired, serious.

Sam took a breath, "Ezra said that Metatron was considering positions for an elite squad. Ground forces. He didn't know what for, and I'm sure it's nothing good, but… Ezra can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. Metatron _knows that_ because, according to Ezra, he met him. Personally. And Ezra's too egotistical to lie about that."

"So?" Dean questioned.

Castiel frowned at him, head tilted and eyes narrowed in thought. At least one of them was following what he was saying.

"Are you suggesting that Metatron allowed Ezra to leave his presence, knowing he would boast about his meeting?" Castiel wondered. "Why would he do that?"

"Increase Ezra's security," Gabriel commanded, still focused on Sam. "He's not aware of it, but I can guarantee you: Metatron may as well have sent him here. Dickbag's playing puppetmaster again."

"Gabriel, he can't escape - " Castiel began.

"Metatron erases warding," Gabriel interrupted. "He's the Scribe. He can erase _anything_ that's written, and his influence of power extends a lot farther than it did without the Tablet. Wave of his hand? All it takes is one juicy thought from Ezra, and you got the enemy at your door. I don't trust any o' this."

"Oh, ain't this just great," Dean griped. "We learned virtually _nothing_ and now we have a ticking time bomb on our hands. One goody-two-shoes over here doesn't want to get rid of because we have to play nice all of a sudden. What's next?"

* * *

The room the angels had escorted them to seemed like, at one time, it had served as a break room. Wooden cabinets were both above and below the large sink against the wall. Beside the counter was a refrigerator, yellowed with age. It worked, yet Dean had already discovered that no food was inside it. Instead, it contained ingredients for spellwork, including various containers of blood that none of them wanted to know the origins of.

The only source of furniture were three black tables that had been pressed together to create one long one and the equally black chairs that sat underneath. Thirteen chairs, in total, one sitting at the head of the tables. Sam had suggested this was a makeshift meeting room. Gabriel had agreed. Dean had rolled his eyes.

As far as Dean was concerned, the angels _weren't_ his concern. He didn't like them on Earth, especially since they were possessing and killing people, but he also cared nothing for their politics and the mounting war between them. He never had, unfortunately. Such a mentality had, ultimately, lead to some not nice things yelled at Castiel during his war with Raphael and, well, shit had happened.

Sam truly wished his brother wouldn't do or say something equally ignorant this go around. They were already neck deep in enough angelic drama. Sam didn't want more.

He stared blankly at the door, waiting for something to happen. Unlike Castiel's office, the makeshift meeting room had no wall windows. The only window it had rested in the door, similar to Ezra's cell. He was left with no idea what was happening outside. The sounds of chatter and phones ringing couldn't make it through the thickness of the walls.

With no television, or radio, or literally any source of entertainment, they were left to listen to each other breathe, the occasional hum of the fridge, and the ticking of the clock in the room.

Of course, talking was an option, but neither Dean nor Gabriel seemed in the mood for it.

Sam had a theory that Dean's sour mood came from both not being able to rough Ezra up and the fact that Castiel was in danger. Again. And, unlike most of the things that had threatened Cas in the past, Dean couldn't fight what ailed him now. Cas was on borrowed time, the way to, allegedly, save him was in the hands of the enemy, and they couldn't get to said enemy without jumping through a whole lot of hoops. Dean was reduced to pacing the floor to settle his nerves.

Gabriel's nerves were equally frayed, though instead of walk he chose to sit beside Sam, shoulders tense and arms crossed as he glowered at the wall.

Every few seconds, Sam would let his gaze drop from the door to focus on the side of Gabriel's face. Sitting sideways in his chair, it wasn't hard to do and remain discreet. At least, to Dean. Gabriel could probably sense whenever Sam looked at him. He could probably sense a lot of things Sam couldn't imagine.

Fifty minutes of silence marked the moment Dean finally snapped.

"What are we doing!" He shouted as he turned to face them.

Sam tilted his head to look at him, "Waiting for Cas to come back from whatever the hell he's doing?"

"Why, though? We came here to interrogate angel dude. We interrogated him. He has no answers. Why're we still here?"

"Where else would we be?"

"Home! On a case. Doing something to actively track down Metatron. Not sitting here with our thumbs up our asses waiting for the unknown!"

"Short attention span, Dean?" Gabriel teased.

"Says the angel I had to buy a coloring book for because he was going stir crazy in the back of a car."

"Yeah, well, unlike you, I can tune in to what the angels are gossiping about. I have _plenty_ of entertainment right now."

Sam frowned, eyes drawing back to Gabriel, "I thought you didn't like using angel radio?"

"I don't, but when ya can feel their beady little eyes trying to peer at you through concrete, ya start wondering why."

"Uh, because you're an Archangel," Dean informed. "One that was dead, remember? Also, didn't you say they'd be flailing over themselves to get at you? Because I'm not seein' it."

"Angels don't _flail_. They murmur in the corner while pointing at you. Trust me: They're interested. Annoyingly so."

"How so?" Sam asked.

"Annoy - " Gabriel paused when he noticed Sam's slight teasing tone. "Hardy har har, Sam. Look, they're starting to wonder why I'm here. They're starting to think maybe I'm on _their_ side. They're getting _ideas_, which is not a good thing. ...And then there's Benjamin."

"What's up with that guy?" Dean questioned. "He gave you the stink eye pretty bad when we came in. Not that you don't deserve it, but I was expecting something else."

"Thanks, Dean," Gabriel smiled sardonically. "As for what crawled up his ass, it's loyalty. To Castiel. I'm another big guy on campus, and Benjamin doesn't want Castiel's power to be weakened because of me. Suspects I'm up to something."

"Well, just tell him you'd rather let Cas take the bullet for you when it comes to leading the angels, rather than stepping up to the plate yourself, and I'm sure he'll back off."

The smiles they gave each other were thinly veiled promises of murder. Sam rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time at the two. Had they truly wanted to kill one another, physical action would've been taken by now. No, empty threats were just how Dean and Gabriel expressed their frustrations towards one another. One day, Sam hoped they'd grow up.

All three of them seemed to agree that silence was the best policy, after that. Dean, however, did finally sit down, though near the other end of the table. Gabriel went back to listening in on angel radio, if his look of concentration and irritation was anything to go by. Sam tried to go back to deadening his mind.

At some point, Sam closed his eyes, cheeked propped up on his hand. His thoughts focused on the _tick-tick-tick_ of the clock behind him.

The sound was so aggravating. Once he'd noticed it, paid more than a little attention to it, it only grew more obnoxious. The fridge hadn't kicked on in a while. Dean's feet weren't lightly thudding against the carpet. The clock was the only thing to distract him from the silence he'd much rather be hearing.

He wanted it to stop. He thought about the second hand, wobbling slightly with each notch it jumped. The intricate gears in the back of the clock that constantly spun, moving the thin, black needle precisely to give a visual for the passage of time. It was those gears, that mechanical movement, that caused the ticking sound. He envisioned the gears stopping. No more turning, no more noise.

Seconds passed before he realized the only thing he heard was silence.

Sam breathed in sharply, eyes springing open. The clock ticked again.

His heart was nearly in his throat when he turned his frantic gaze to Gabriel, but the Archangel wasn't paying him any attention.

Gabriel's brow was knitted together, as if he couldn't understand something, and then it smoothed. Recognition passed across his face, followed by resignation. He looked to the door.

Sam stared at the back of his head, silent panic falling to the wayside as he wondered what Gabriel had heard. Had he even noticed what Sam had done?

It wasn't long before Castiel's tan coat could be seen through the window. The door opened shortly, and the look on Cas' face spoke volumes. Something had happened. Something bad. Benjamin stood behind him, a silent, worried sentinel.

"You need to come with me," Castiel said gravely and with urgency. "We have a problem."

Gabriel was the first one out of his chair, Sam second. Dean hesitated briefly.

"Why?" He asked as he pushed himself up. "What's wrong?"

"In my office."

Gabriel headed out of the room without further prompting. He ignored the glare Benjamin gave the side of his face as he passed him. Sam looked back to Dean. Even Dean seemed disturbed by how their friend was acting. His secrecy only made the situation seem more dire.

Dean didn't argue further. He followed Cas out of the room and Sam followed him. Benjamin brought up the rear.

Sam paid him no heed, fretting more over what he'd done than being tailed by an overprotective angel.

He hadn't meant to stop the clock. He had but he hadn't. Having the power to influence his surroundings with a thought still spooked him. When he was influencing things to help someone, that was okay. Even back when he was exorcising demons! He'd _intended_ to do something with his powers. It'd taken _effort_. But to know, now, that his powers could work for the weirdest, most irrelevant things? Without even trying?

Most of Sam's worry came from the idea he could abuse his powers, that he'd concentrate too hard on something he didn't truly want and wind up screwing something up. Weeks ago, Gabriel had taught him how to harness his powers to _prevent_ accidents. What if he wound up causing them anyway? For a completely different reason.

Hell, if he thought hard enough, he could probably conjure a cup of coffee. Just for shits and giggles. Right down to the amount of sugar in it. Sam was not nearly as thrilled about the idea as he figured a lot of people would be.

When they got to Castiel's office, Sam pushed his intrusive thoughts to the side. Gabriel reclaimed his seat on Castiel's desk, Sam and Dean also returning to the chairs they had occupied earlier. Benjamin waited outside, on Castiel's command. Sam's leg bounced up and down out of nervousness.

Castiel shut the door to his office, walked to stand before all of them, and then turned.

"Ezra is dead." He stated. "Mebabel discovered his body just now. He appears to have been slain by an angel blade."

Sam took a deep breath and rubbed his hand across his mouth.

That wasn't good. That was beyond not good.

"Well, we didn't do it," Dean replied. "Hell, Sam kept me from even _deckin'_ the guy. Never even drew my blade."

"He was fine when we left him," Sam shook his head.

"No, I know," Castiel said. "Even if I thought you two would go behind my back and do something like this, had you been the ones to kill him, Gabriel and I would've heard his death. Felt it, too. ...This was an angel kill."

"What happened to that extra security I told you to give him?" Gabriel asked in frustration.

"I… We didn't have time."

"You had over an hour!"

"I was distracted!" Castiel shrugged helplessly. "The angels needed my help devising a plan to infiltrate a supposed stronghold of Metatron's, and… I'm sorry, Gabriel. But I didn't think something like _this_ would happen."

"Okay, well, I'll come out and say it. Maybe you've got a mole," Dean suggested, as unhappy as the rest of them.

Sam could tell the exact moment Castiel realized Dean wasn't talking about a furry rodent and was, instead, suggesting that somebody had infiltrated his base. Somebody that worked for Metatron. Castiel's shoulders drooped, a frown tugging at his lips. He sighed through his nose.

"I'd been so sure everyone here was loyal," he said, dejected. "Finally united by a common cause. Not one of these angels has shown any hostility towards another. Minus Benjamin's ill mood towards Gabriel."

"Well, maybe he did it?" Dean suggested.

"No," both Gabriel and Castiel answered, Castiel's a little too emphatic.

"Too in love with Cas for that," Gabriel added.

Cas frowned, "He's not in love with me."

"Oh, he's crushin' on you pretty hard, my man. _Close enough_."

"Okay, so it's not Benjamin," Dean conceded. "But it's gotta be _someone_. So, why don't Sam and I do a little snoopin' and see what we can dig up?"

Dean stood from his chair. He gave Sam a quick pat on his shoulder.

"C'mon."

Sam reluctantly pushed himself up. Dean left without him, sure that Sam would follow eventually. Sam waited, however, and looked to Gabriel.

Gabriel made eye contact with him. Sam wanted him to follow, not just because he wanted to make sure Gabriel wouldn't be jumped like Ezra had been but also because he wanted to discuss what he'd accidentally-on-purpose done to the clock back in the meeting room. His desire was received, earning a put-upon sigh from Gabriel.

"_Fine_," Gabriel complained. "I'll come with. But I seriously don't think any o' the angels are gonna tell you squat with me in tow."

They made it two steps towards the door before being called back by Castiel.

"Sam, wait. I have something I need to ask you."

Sam turned to face him, "Yeah, what?"

"It's about Gadreel. When he possessed you."

Sam's curiosity was quickly smothered by dread and reluctance. He didn't like being reminded of Gadreel. He didn't like remembering that the angel who had killed Kevin once paraded around in his body like he'd owned it.

"That's not really something - "

"I know, Sam, and I'm sorry. But, please."

It was Sam's turn to sigh.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Did you ever feel a presence?"

"Not… Not really?"

Gadreel's possession of him hadn't been total. Not like how he'd been possessed by Meg or Lucifer. Especially Lucifer. With Gadreel, he'd mostly been himself. Sometimes he'd lose track of time, and now he knew that had been when Gadreel had come forward, but overall? He hadn't really felt the guy.

Or had he? Shortly after the hospital that he barely remembered, he _had_ felt different. He hadn't been uncomfortable, really. In fact, he'd felt pretty okay. Which, considering how he'd been feeling the entire time through the Trials, as his body gradually self-destructed while trying to contain the Word of God within it, was a nice change of pace.

"Maybe that I wasn't truly alone?" He half-asked, uncertain if he was describing his own feeling correctly.

"But did you ever feel threatened?"

Sam shook his head slowly, unsure what Castiel was getting at.

"No. Gadreel… I think it was more like he felt..._restless_. Like he had unfinished business." He huffed a humorless laugh. "Now that we know more about him, I'd say he felt misunderstood."

"You didn't feel like you were in danger? He didn't seem hostile?"

"No. Guess I was wrong."

"And when you met with him, later, to talk to him about Gabriel's Horn - ?"

"Castiel," Gabriel broke in, finally making himself known again.

Both Sam and Cas focused their attention on him. Castiel suddenly grew sheepish, as if caught in the act of something. Sam grew suspicious. It only took him a moment to realize the logical end to Castiel's questioning. His eyes widened as he faced his friend.

"Cas!" He scolded. "You can't be serious!"

"If Metatron has forces within my camp, I don't see why I can't use his own against him," Castiel tried to defend himself.

"It's _Gadreel!_"

"Appeal to his honor," Gabriel told Cas. "His desire for honor and his innocence in the Garden are the two best ways to get him to listen to you. _Don't_ accuse him of being guilty for the Serpent, and _don't_ flat out tell him siding with Metatron is wrong. Merely insinuate that he's being deceived, again, and gently give him reasons why. The last thing you want to do is make him think _you're_ trying to deceive him. And, for the love of everything holy, _don't hit him_."

"Gabriel!" Sam exclaimed, appalled that he was siding with Castiel.

"Sam," Gabriel returned. "You went behind my back to ask Gadreel to help me. And I'm grateful for that, I really am. But you yourself recognize that, on occasion, he's useful and willing to be used. Castiel's not wrong to try and use the same tactic _you_ did."

"I know that! But… Right after someone kills Ezra? Someone who, supposedly, also works for Metatron? Does this not sound like a bad idea to anyone else?"

Gabriel smiled, an oddly gentle thing full of sympathy. Such a smile confused Sam. He didn't understand why it was directed at him.

"What was it you once told your brother regarding working with _me?_ How you two didn't 'have the luxury of a moral stand?' Same applies here, Sam. If Castiel can get ol' Gadzooks to switch teams? We'll have the most valuable player on the field."

Sam threw his hands up in defeat. He didn't want to work with Gadreel. He hadn't before, and he didn't now. Yet, he knew both Gabriel and Castiel had a point. He _had_ met with Gadreel, for similar reasons Cas wanted to. And, thankfully, even after he'd physically assaulted the guy, Gadreel had still done what he'd asked. Castiel's mission wouldn't be impossible, but it was still dangerous.

"Alright, just," he directed his plea to Cas, "make sure you take back-up with you? Benjamin, Mebabel, someone you _truly_ trust. Just because Gadreel might keep his word and act with 'honor' doesn't mean Metatron will. Not that Metatron has _ever_ acted with honor..."

Cas smiled. His was fond and thankful.

"Of course. I'd like to believe I wouldn't be so foolish as to go it alone. Not when I have an army under my command that needs me," he joked.

The corner of Sam's lips twitched. Despite his friends' assurances, he still felt like something was wrong, that something _could go_ _wrong_. Mirroring the greeting he received from Cas earlier, he stepped forward to give him a quick hug.

However, Cas hadn't quite figured out the proper time allotted for a hug. Sam wound up awkwardly waiting a few seconds too long for Cas to let go. When he did, Sam stepped back, clapped him on the shoulder, and turned to leave. When he made it to Gabriel, the Archangel smirked and raised his own arms, jokingly asking for a hug, as well. Sam frowned at him in annoyance.

"_You're_ not going anywhere," he pointed at him, "you're coming with me. _You_ don't get a hug."

"Ouch! Where's the love, y'all?"

"Don't- Don't quote the Black Eyed Peas, dude."

"Why not? That song's awe_some_," Gabriel trailed off as Sam grabbed him by the arm and lead him out of Castiel's office.

They had angels to question, Dean was who-knew-where, and Sam had psychic powers to discuss. Nothing was going to get done with them standing around.

* * *

**A/N:** Who knew roughly one-third of an episode would be about eleven-_thousand_ words? Like, comment, and subscribe if you liked this video, yada yada. Love y'all. Ask questions. See ya on the flipside.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** I started writing this after last chapter. It's now two months later. Such is my life. Also, Sam and Gabriel decided they were going to ignore my plans for them, so I just threw my hands up in the air. Jesus take the wheel. (Except, probably not Jesus, all things considered.)

Song worth mention: "Gone, Gone, Gone" by Phillip Phillips.

**To the Guest who asked why Sam couldn't just heal Castiel's Grace, if he healed Gabriel's: **Sam was able to manipulate Gabriel's Grace into _healing itself faster_. He didn't heal it in the traditional sense, and it didn't completely heal, either. For an analogy: Sam was a dosage of vitamins, bolstering Gabriel's immune system, but said immune system has to combat the virus alone. Vitamins are not going to fix the problem. Gabriel's Grace is limited by its own ability.

Castiel's Grace isn't his own. The Grace itself is poisoning him, burning through his body as if it were a virus itself. Sam, possibly, if given enough time to be able to connect with Cas the way he does with Gabe, could bolster Cas' Grace, too. However! The Grace will only begin to disintegrate again. In doing so, it drags Castiel's body down with it. Again. Going this route is as effective as curing Demon!Dean as long as the Mark still exists on his arm.

With Sam having already considered _removing_ the Grace entirely, and with Gabriel having revealed the option of finding Cas' Grace to stick it back in, Sam isn't going to consider an option that isn't a permanent solution. He'd rather put his nose to the grindstone and reach the _permanent_ solution.

**Content Warning: **Fic gets its M-rating.

* * *

Roughly over an hour was spent nosing around Castiel's base.

Sam came across Dean easily enough. The center room stayed crowded with angels, some comparing notes, some answering phones, some tacking up pins and colored streamers to a large wall map to show the routes of either other, hostile angels or Metatron. Maybe even Gadreel. Sam couldn't know.

Naturally, Dean was working his way through them, sliding his way into clusters of angels as if he were trying to pick up women at a bar. The angels didn't seem to fall for his light flirting, instead treating him with distrust and wariness.

Angels were odd creatures, Sam was learning. Over the years, he and his brother had met many. Yet, most of those had been warriors, specifically sent to Earth to fight for one cause or another. The angels gathering in Castiel's base seemed to be of different stations, most likely non-violent based on their swift transition and willingness to follow Castiel's rule of not harming each other.

These angels were acting together. Sam could tell by their grouping that they were forming cliques, friendships and not just partnerships. Loyalty was starting to extend to each other, as well as their commander, and not just the cause they served.

Aforementioned loyalty is what caused them to bristle at Dean, and sometimes Sam, when they were approached. It appeared that time was needed to gain an angel's favor, for them to drop their guard and answer any questions asked of them. Time...and power.

The longer Gabriel stood amongst them, the more the room grew quiet. The angels tried to be discreet, most of them anyway, when it came to checking out the Archangel in their presence, but Sam caught the murmuring and pointing Gabriel had said they'd do. When Gabriel stepped too close to one, they inadvertently stood straighter, as if standing at attention, and focused all of their attention on him. Even when they pretended to shift the papers they'd been looking at, their eyes never once left Gabriel. Some even leaned toward him, rotated slightly to face him just a little more than they had been.

It was as if angels were _truly_ drawn to power. Magnetic attraction. Only, instead of a magnetic field drawing them in, it was a greater source of energy than their own. _Gravity_, Sam then likened it to. Gabriel, a star like Sirius, and the angels, white dwarfs in comparison, trapped in an orbit around him.

Such a sight was both intriguing and surreal. What surprised Sam was the effect such behavior had on Gabriel. Sure, he still had a perpetual air of irritation around him. He carried himself stiffly, gun-shy, but when he sensed an angel adopting that subservient stance, he'd straighten his own back. Unwittingly, Gabriel adopted a display of command. As much as he wanted the angels to back off of him, saving their attention for Castiel, he wasn't helping himself achieve such a goal by posturing like a leader.

After the fourth time of Gabriel doing so, Sam finally called him on it. Gabriel scrunched his nose up at him, told Sam he most certainly wasn't trying to give the angels any ideas, thank you very much, yet Sam noticed when Gabriel began to curb his inherent instincts.

Dean regrouped with them, complaining that he'd learned nothing substantial. The angels didn't seem suspicious, all seemed to disapprove of Metatron for casting them out of Heaven, and none of them suspected a fellow angel as being an infiltrator or capable of betrayal. Sam and Gabriel had received similar news, though they had learned that not every angel of Castiel's flock was in the building. Some had left to investigate the supposed stronghold Castiel had mentioned before he'd left, and the mole could very well be among that group.

The idea that Ezra's murderer could have snuck out while everyone's back was turned, that they could be leading Castiel's group of angels into a trap, wasn't a pleasant one. Dean sent Cas a text, telling him to warn his angels that they should keep their eyes peeled. Not long after, Castiel sent a return text, informing Dean that he would relay the message.

Another thought crept into Gabriel's mind, which he then voiced to the other two. If the traitor _wasn't_ with the group that had left, if the angel had deceived them as well, then said traitor might know Castiel had left. Worst-case scenario, the traitor might even know _why_ Castiel had left, or at least where he'd gone.

Dean sent another text to Castiel, this time warning _him_ of the danger. Minutes later, Cas responded, assuring them all he was safe. He also included a slight dig at them for worrying to much. All three concurred that Cas didn't worry enough.

With no true results to their snooping, and Castiel gone, the trio came to the conclusion that they should leave, as well. Sam suggested getting a motel room for the night, just to make sure they'd be near Cas if something horrible happened in the immediate future. He didn't like sounding so pessimistic, but fate hadn't exactly been kind to any of them.

Furthermore, he still didn't trust Gadreel.

Leaving the building proved a lot easier than entering it, what with Benjamin having left with Castiel.

Sam was a little relieved that Cas had netted himself a decent bodyguard. Or, a devoted one, in any case. Someone had Cas' back when they couldn't. However, Sam wasn't too thrilled about being treated like a threat when he wasn't one.

It hadn't been the first time he or his brother had been snubbed by angels for being close to Castiel. As far as he understood, the angels that had cared about Cas the most had blamed them for corrupting him. The _Winchesters_ were the reason Castiel had fallen from Grace. Not his own free will, not his desire to help humanity at the cost of everything he had known, but because Sam and Dean Winchester had somehow turned him over to the dark side.

Sometimes, Sam agreed with them. Deep down. Had Cas never met them, never grown attached, then he probably wouldn't have suffered at the hands of Zachariah, then Raphael, Naomi. However, such thoughts felt like a disservice to Cas and the choices he had made. The fact he _had_ made a choice was monumental, considering how angels were wired to behave. Sure, he'd made wrong choices, he'd made mistakes, but hadn't they all?

However, most of Sam's dislike over Benjamin's behavior came from the grudge Benjamin had towards Gabriel. He tried to logic it away, telling himself he was just upset on behalf of Gabriel's reputation, when the fact of the matter was he was annoyed someone thought ill of the person he'd pretty much fallen in love with.

Yes, he could admit it now. He'd danced around his feelings for Gabriel, telling himself it was a crush, and then lust. He pursued Gabriel and gave him no doubts that he was interested in him. However, Sam had, time and time again, politely informed his brain that it was wrong whenever it supplied him evidence that his behavior in regards to Gabriel showed that he wanted more than a friend with benefits.

The problem with wanting to _love_ Gabriel was that Sam wasn't entirely sure Gabriel returned the sentiment, or if he ever would. Gabriel had loved in the past, Sam knew. Sam's doubt, contrary to what Dean liked spouting off, wasn't whether or not Gabriel _could_ love him, it was more along the lines of _would_ he.

To Sam's knowledge, Gabriel's romantic-leaning relationships extended to two beings, both of which were _deities_. As in immortal. Powerful. Something Sam wasn't.

Sam wouldn't blame Gabriel if he decided _not_ to get too involved with the star-crossed human nipping at his heels who could kick the bucket at any time.

The hotel the trio chose to stay in was the Hilton Garden Inn. Eleven stories high, it was shorter than its cousin in Manhattan. Unlike Manhattan, however, Cleveland had ground space to spare. What it lacked in height, it made up for in width. Dark and light brick were expertly used to create a pleasant contrast for the outside appearance.

Like Manhattan, however, the Garden Inn was smack dab in the middle of busy streets. The parking was at least by the building and less expensive than New York's parking garage. However, the pavement was worse for wear. Dean didn't approve of it, nor did he approve of how tightly packed the spaces were. Again, his fear of damage to the Impala reared its head. Again, Sam and Gabriel rolled their eyes at him. Crumbling parking lots were better than walking.

Inside, the same motif of whites and browns painted a formal mood. Though, with greater floor space, the Inn utilized more furniture to make it look less drab and clinical. To the right was the sitting area of the lobby, full of lounge chairs and heavy lamps on end tables. To the left, many small tables with chairs sat in what appeared to be an eating area for a restaurant called "The Garden Grille." Sam had a sneaking suspicion of where he could find Dean later that night.

The receptionist greeted them with a smile. He took Gabriel's golden credit card without question. Sam didn't fail to notice the name on the card had changed. Probably some of the numbers, too. He smirked at the minute detail. Contrary to what Gabriel had told Castiel, he _did_ appear to care if Metatron tracked him down or not. Sam's thumb absentmindedly tapped against his bag's strap, the one that held the warding carving of Gabriel's.

Sam was surprised when Gabriel requested only _two_ king-sized rooms instead of three. He cut his eyes to glance at Dean. His brother returned the look, though his gaze didn't show confusion and worry so much as a hidden smirk and mild disgust. Sam frowned at him as he fidgeted under the taunting judgment.

Gabriel made no comment about his decision, though he caught the insinuating look on Dean's face when he turned to lead the way to their rooms. As luck would have it, both rooms given to them were on the third floor. Being closer together like that would make things easier should shit hit the fan. Again.

On the way to the elevator, Dean caught sight of a sign pointing towards the direction of the Inn's pool. Naturally, he expressed his desire to use it. His temporary mirth vanished when a handful of cackling kids ran past, wearing swim suits and carrying an obnoxiously large, inflatable dolphin. His declaration of, 'Nevermind,' was far more bitter than it had any right to be coming from a grown man.

They parted ways once out of the elevator, Dean going left while Gabriel and Sam went right. They weren't _too_ far from one another, but the distance still felt a little bizarre to Sam, still so used to sharing a room with his brother. Sure, lately he'd been spending more time alone, or with Gabriel, but he couldn't shake the _years_ of being able to look over to immediately see Dean.

Once in their room, Sam went about unpacking his bags. The protective sigil stayed within his duffel, so as to avoid him leaving it somewhere again. A change of clothes and his laptop were drug out, however.

He had no idea how long they'd be staying near Castiel's headquarters. Given Cas' were the only leads in regards to Metatron, Dean might decide to remain for a few more days to get a read on the overall situation. Though he showed an eagerness to flee back home earlier, the gravity of a spy within Castiel's ranks would prompt Dean into being a little more involved, more protective, than usual.

That being the case, Sam didn't really want to walk out into the public eye looking like a wrinkled mess. He might not have the best fashion sense in the world, but he knew opinion was important when it came to rooming in a place with Hilton in the name. One extra pair of ironed clothes a day sounded like a good idea.

As he pushed his sleep clothes aside, Sam caught sight of a color that didn't belong in his bag. Brilliant scarlet was never a color he had worn nor would he ever wear. The sound of Gabriel plopping onto the bed with all his weight was mostly ignored in favor of investigating the oddity. In Sam's hand went in, and out came garish swim briefs.

Sam made a choked noise, tossing the briefs at the wall he was facing with a slight flick of his wrist.

No. Not-in-a-million-years no. He gaped at the offending, small article of clothing for seconds before realizing _why_ and _who _had put it with his clothes.

"No!" He emphatically stated to a smirking Gabriel.

As was a growing theme with Gabriel and his concept of comfort, the Archangel lay directly in the center of the bed, ankles crossed and head propped up on pillows. At Sam's reaction, he pretended to be insulted at the dismissal, raising his hands.

"What!" He defended. "First you're joking about me teleporting all the clothes off o' ya, and now you're throwin' a fit because I give ya a Speedo - which is more clothes than none, I might add. Make up your mind, Sam! I'm getting mixed signals."

Gabriel folded his arms across his chest, playfully acting as if he'd won their dispute. Sam, however, was not charmed.

"That is a public pool!" He hissed as he pointed towards their closed door.

"And? There's no one in it."

"I'm pretty sure I remember seein' some kids -"

Gabriel scoffed and shrugged, "They're not in there _now_."

Sam took a deep breath, steeling himself for the question he felt he already knew the answer to. He shifted his weight, highly aware of who - what - he was squaring off against. He also knew how effective his scolding was going to be, but he had to give it his all, regardless.

"_What did you do?_"

"Pink dolphins aren't so cute and cuddly in real life."

"You…" Sam tried to digest the sheer immaturity that was personified in Gabriel. "You traumatized a bunch of kids because you wanted to see me in a Speedo."

"I've done more for less."

Sam rolled his eyes only to then close them against the realization of whom he'd admitted to himself earlier that he loved. Yes, this was Gabriel. The being with a humor level on par with Dean's. He honestly wondered why he'd expected anything different. Not like he hadn't laughed at Gabriel's jokes before, even when he probably shouldn't have, thus making him not that much better than the Trickster in that regard. Really, he should've seen something like this coming.

This time, he pointed at firm finger in _Gabriel's_ direction. "No."

He turned back to his clothes, half afraid that he'd find something even more scandalous hiding away in there, only for his eyes to land right back on the damn Speedo. Unfortunately, his mind worked as quickly as it always did when he didn't want to acknowledge something.

Their flirting and affection may have increased, but pulling such as stunt as he had, with such short notice, was pretty bold even for Gabriel. For hours, he'd been nothing but a bundle of nerves, staring down angels as well as his past. And now? Pulling a few tricks and practically screaming at Sam that he wanted to see him in next to nothing?

"Party pooper," Gabriel accused.

Sam's hands thumped softly against the dresser as he dropped them. He picked up the swim briefs, turned, and walked casually towards the bed.

Gabriel, regardless of his teasing tone before, frowned as Sam grew closer. His gaze jumped from Sam's to the Speedo and back, confused and worried as to why both things were coming towards him. He must have not been expecting any reaction other than exasperated denial. The way he furrowed his brow and leaned away from the briefs, and Sam, as they crowded into his personal space was, Sam had to admit, amusing.

Sam held up the briefs in his fist so that they were nearly in front of Gabriel's nose. An action that caused Gabriel's eyes to cross.

"You're cute and all," Sam began, "but if you think I'm going to let you use me as a distraction from your problems, you're wrong."

The glare Gabriel shot him was indignant, his frown betraying his hurt feelings. He didn't even look at the Speedo as it was dropped onto his stomach. Sam didn't look away, either.

He understood. He knew how Gabriel handled his stress, just as he knew how Dean handled his. Just how he used to handle his own. But in coming to care for Gabriel, Sam didn't appreciate the idea of being used as a tool by him. Just as Gabriel didn't like being used as such.

"If you want someone to talk to, or-or just wanna hang out for a bit, let off some steam, then okay. We'll do that. I'd love to do that. But don't treat me like a slab of meat here for your entertainment. That's not fair, and you know it. ...I wouldn't do that to you."

Gabriel stayed silent. He continued to stare at Sam. But Sam could see the gears turning in his head, the slight shifts of emotion in his eyes.

Sam had realized the moment he'd said it that his original statement had been a slap to the face, a feeling of betrayal. It's why he'd rephrased it. Gabriel no doubt thought Sam was refusing to _ever_ be a pillar of support, going against what he'd shown Gabriel in the past. Now, however, he was realizing that Sam was merely denying _one_ coping mechanism of his. One, if his relaxing posture was anything to go by, he seemed to be able to live without.

Gabriel blinked. His mood shifted into one more melancholy, only a speck of light-hearted mischief in his voice.

"What if I actually wanted to go swimming with you?"

"You _actually_ want to go swimming? Not just oogle me so you don't have to think with your upstairs brain anymore?"

"Scout's honor."

"Yeah, because you were definitely a Scout."

Gabriel smirked with good-natured humor.

Sam waited for a better answer, yet as the seconds ticked by, he realized he wasn't going to get one. He pursed his lips in slight annoyance at himself. One minute he was telling Gabriel he wasn't going to entertain him, and the next he was finding himself caving in.

Given all the shit he'd been through, and the relative good behavior he'd been on, minus the dolphin prank, of course, Sam tried to reason that Gabriel _did_ deserve a little bit of fun. Idly standing in a pool that was hardly five feet at its deepest couldn't be all that bad, as long as Sam wasn't forced to wear bright red, highly revealing swim briefs. He figured standing would be all that they'd be doing. Hotel pools were barely big enough to even attempt to swim laps in.

Compromise. That's what he told himself he was doing. He wasn't flat-out giving Gabriel what he wanted, he was meeting him halfway. At least, that way, Gabriel got a mood boost and Sam… Well, they could talk.

"Fine," Sam relented. "But I'm not wearing the Speedo."

Gabriel perked up, vulpine smile causing laugh lines to appear on his face. Sam had just enough time to admire them, musing at how such a simple expression changed Gabriel completely, before Gabriel's hands were moving.

The world went black as fabric was shoved down over his head. Sam yelped in surprise.

"Meetcha there, Sam!"

With a merry pat on Sam's shoulder, Gabriel got off the bed. Sam grabbed a hold of whatever was on his head and yanked it off. In his hands were scarlet swim trunks.

Gabriel had changed the _briefs_ to _trunks_ but had left the obnoxious red color that Sam had found nearly as offensive.

"What is it with you and _red?_" Sam questioned over his shoulder, but Gabriel had already left, door leading into the hall wide open.

With a sigh, Sam got off the bed and shut it. He frowned down at the trunks in his hand. He didn't really want to go swimming. He wanted to finish unpacking. But he also didn't want to let Gabriel down. Because Gabriel could get such a forlorn look on his face and Sam _hated_ seeing it. If it wasn't empathy he felt when faced with that look it was guilt.

Sam didn't need that. Gabriel didn't need that. His unpacking could wait.

* * *

For some silly reason, Sam felt unusually self-conscious on his trek down to the pool. Normally, he'd wear pants over the trunks, and a shirt, and remove those once he got to the pool. However, since he didn't know much about how the Garden Inn worked, and Gabriel was already at the pool, Sam decided to go against his usual behavior and just leave their room with only trunks. Scarlet trunks.

About the fifth polite smile he had to give a questioning, sometimes interested, look from a stranger, Sam regretted his decision. When he finally spotted the sign leading to the pool, he sped up. Right before the turn at the end of the hall, leading into the actual pool area, Sam remembered that towels were a thing. He'd left all of the ones the hotel provided inconveniently in his room. Maybe Gabriel would conjure one up to save him, and the Inn, the hassle of returning to the third floor while soaking wet.

The pool was completely empty save for Gabriel, who was floating on his back with his eyes closed. His trunks were also red, though they had golden accents on the side. Sam was starting to wonder if the Archangel's creativity tapped out when it came to fashion. Maybe he wasted it all on pranks that only he truly got to enjoy?

Sam suspected the reason the pool was _still_ empty was, again, Gabriel's doing. Sam didn't know what exactly he was doing, but he suspected it was something. He also knew Gabriel heard his bare feet against the tiles, even if he didn't react to Sam's presence.

Sam didn't say a word, at first. He walked into the pool, confused as to its warmer-than-usual temperature, and waded out to Gabriel's side. Sam stood, feeling awkward, by Gabriel. He stared down at him, waiting for him to say or do anything. Gabriel did neither. The thought of pushing him under popped into Sam's head, but he ignored it. Instead, he raised his hands in a shrug.

"Welp, I'm here," he announced.

Gabriel smirked, "I noticed."

The urge to dunk him came back even stronger.

"You're doing a fantastic job of swimming," Sam snarked.

Sam felt the hairs on his leg move in the water, as if something had wrapped around his calf. He looked down, saw nothing, and then yelped when his was foot was pulled out from under him. Instinct had him closing his eyes and mouth before he went underwater, his arms windmilling in a pitiful attempt to keep his balance. He didn't go far in the water, merely enough to wet his head, before he regained his footing.

He coughed and sputtered as he stood, the burn of chlorine in his nose an uncomfortable feeling. He raked his hair out of his face, blinked through the water on his lashes, and finally felt fit enough to send a reproving look at Gabriel.

Gabriel looked wholly smug, bouncing deeper into the pool. He was still trying to let the water hold most of his weight, resulting in his head being the only thing above the surface. Combined with his expression, he creepily resembled a shark waiting to strike.

Oh, Sam was _definitely_ going to dunk him. Just not yet. He'd lull Gabriel into a false sense of security and _then_ he'd have his revenge. Because, at the rate they were going, if Sam went in for the kill right away, Gabriel would magick him into surrender. He'd lose before he even began. Screw that.

Annoyed pout on his face, Sam waded after Gabriel again.

"Nice to see you're feeling better," he deadpanned.

Gabriel shrugged dismissively, "Now that I'm not having to deal with the constant hum, peering eyes, and whispers of conspiracy from my kinfolk, yeah. Yeah, kinda doin' a bit better."

Sam was shocked by Gabriel's easy admission. He hoped it was a small step forward by Gabriel to _not _pent everything up regarding the heavy stuff. Dean did that enough for everybody. And Sam was still working on _him_.

"Good," Sam replied, earnest.

He sunk down into the water in an attempt to get even with Gabriel's gaze. Even in the deep end of the pool, being a head-and-shoulders taller than the other didn't make it easy. His legs ended up awkwardly knocking into Gabriel's. Gabriel didn't seem to mind, he certainly wasn't jarred by the movement, and so Sam kept his feet where they were.

They were both silent for a moment, staring at one another. Gabriel seemed to be thinking. About what, Sam couldn't guess. He was curious, though. When he finally decided to ask, mouth opening, Gabriel spoke instead.

"You have no idea what it's like, Sam," he stated, solemn and nonjudgmental. "To live thousands of years pretending to be anything but yourself...and suddenly having to fit into shoes you don't think fit anymore. And they're shoes you don't even wanna wear. Ugly, sequined shoes."

"Like Dorothy's?"

"No place like home."

Sam didn't respond. He offered Gabriel a quick, understanding smile, sympathetic to the hollow bitterness Gabriel projected in such a simple phrase. He didn't tell Gabriel that he _did _know how it felt to have an unwanted fate, an unwanted job. He didn't remind him that he'd ran, too. He'd ran, only to drag himself back up to the plate and pick up a bat that got heavier every damn time he lifted it.

Because the moment they were sharing wasn't about him, it was about Gabriel. Gabriel knew what Sam had been through, and he was right. Sam _didn't_ know what it felt like to keep up a facade for _that_ long. He didn't despise what he'd changed in himself whenever he'd pretended to be anyone other than a hunter.

But Gabriel? Certain aspects of the Trickster clearly weighed heavily on him, just as certain aspects of the Archangel did. For so long he was one, for so long he was the other, and now it didn't appear as if he could find any middle ground.

Middle ground was important.

Gabriel talking about his problems seemed like the first step to finding equilibrium.

"You dragged me into a pool to talk?" Sam teased lightly.

He still wanted Gabriel to talk, and he wasn't trying to distract him. Not totally. But he knew Gabriel liked having the option of a distraction. If not given one, he'd create one. So, Sam gave him one, hoping he wouldn't bite. Yet, if he did, that was okay, too.

"You know as well as I do that this pool isn't nearly big enough to do any actual swimming. Not with your ridiculously long legs," Gabriel replied, trying to prove his point by tapping one of Sam's legs with his own.

"They're only ridiculously long to you because yours are ridiculously short."

"Ho! Now I _know_ you're going for the short joke."

"You walked right into it. With your tiny legs."

Sam shut his eyes just in time for Gabriel's splash of water to hit him square in the face. He took that attack in stride, fully aware that he deserved it. In fact, the smile he gave Gabriel after he opened his eyes was as smug as Gabriel's had been before.

Sam wouldn't call them even, but at least it was a start. His desire to drown Gabriel was lessening, in any case.

"Yeah, eat your heart out, Winchester." Gabriel leaned towards him. "You know how tall I _really_ am. I could swat you like a fly."

No threat hid in Gabriel's statement. Something else did, though. A taunt. A call that interested Sam.

He met Gabriel's challenge, pulling himself closer to him.

Gabriel moved back in the water, though there wasn't far for him to go. He finally stood, back pressed against the side of the pool. His gaze never broke from Sam's, even as Sam curved towards him and crowded into his personal space.

Gabriel had a way of conveying his emotions only through those amber eyes of his. Even when the rest of his face was completely passive, his eyes still gave hints to what Gabriel was feeling, what he wasn't saying. It was like a lure to Sam. What does this twinkle mean? What does that twinkle mean? How can something that looks merely like a shift in lighting actually convey intent?

Sam glanced at Gabriel's lips.

"You won't," he stated.

Gabriel didn't respond. Not at first. The silence stretched on between them as Gabriel thought. The lips that held Sam's rapt attention showed a small hint of a smile.

"No," he announced.

That was all the incentive Sam needed. He closed the distance between them, lips pressing firmly against Gabriel's. His hands left the water to frame Gabriel's face. And Gabriel pushed back, hands digging into Sam's biceps as he opened his mouth just enough to nip at Sam's bottom lip.

Sam inhaled sharply at the pressure of Gabriel's teeth. His hands quickly trailed down Gabriel's chest to wrap around behind his back. Sam's fingers dug between shoulder blades, dug into what Sam already knew to be one of Gabriel's erogenous zones.

He was awarded with an arousing cross between a growl and a whine, Gabriel arching his back in such a way that his hips momentarily rolled against Sam's.

Sam gasped and twitched at the feeling. He was well on his way to becoming hard, a condition that was only sped along by the way Gabriel's tongue took immediate advantage of Sam's open mouth. He moaned against it, relishing in the fact that he was finally getting to taste Gabriel. _Finally_. Long after Gabriel's slip-up in a shared mindspace.

Too long, too long, too long, _finally_, his mind continued to repeat as he pressed himself fully against Gabriel. With practiced ease, Sam lifted him into his arms. When Gabriel's legs wrapped around him with no hesitation, Sam was free to grab hold of the back of Gabriel's neck, deepening their kiss and preventing him from running away this time.

Not that Gabriel was going anywhere. At least, that's the message Sam received from the grip he had on Sam. Gabriel's hands found their way into Sam's hair, stroking through it his encouragement and praise. He rocked against Sam, his own hardening dick brushing against Sam's stomach, sending another jolt of arousal through Sam.

Sam broke their heated kisses to suck at Gabriel's jaw, moving quickly to his neck.

Such a beautiful neck, Sam thought. Long and masculine. He understood now why Kali had raked her fingers down it the way she had. Was it weird to think about that now? He didn't care. He was too busy trying to mark Gabriel to consider proper thinking etiquette.

A firm bite had Gabriel hissing. He rocked against Sam again. The fingers in Sam's hair tightened, and when Sam didn't stop mouthing at the spot he'd bit, those fingers yanked. Hard.

Sam whined, the brief pain snapping him out of his fervor. He looked up at Gabriel, confused as to why he'd felt the need to do that. The blown pupils and pink lips Gabriel was sporting only increased Sam's confusion. Why were they stopping? They _both_ were _clearly_ enjoying themselves this time.

"Easy there," Gabriel breathed. "_Pool._"

Sam blinked lazily, too focused on how hot Gabriel being slightly out of breath was. It took him a few seconds to realize what Gabriel was pointing out.

"Oh. Oh, right. _Pool_. Um." He licked his lips. "_Bed?_"

"Bed," Gabriel nodded. "Good to see you're still thinking with your 'upstairs brain.'"

"I'm really not."

"Also good."

Gabriel leaned in to give him one final kiss and then he pushed himself away from Sam, using the height Sam afforded him to hop onto the pool's edge. With only a smirk, he stood and began to briskly walk away.

Placing his hands on the tiles of the floor, Sam lifted himself out of the water as quickly as he could. When the colder air met his warm skin, he sobered up a bit, if only because he realized he was still half hard. And in swim trunks. That were such a brilliant color that they were bound to draw attention, thus revealing his slight problem to anyone who looked.

Sam was at least half sure his face turned the color of his shorts. He sped towards Gabriel, hoping he could somewhat hide behind him. However, Gabriel sped up, too. The smirk he threw over his shoulder at Sam made it clear he intended to leave Sam to his fate.

Think of anything other than Gabriel, he told himself. Literally anything other than his lips, his eyes, the bruise that would form on his neck, thanks to Sam. Certainly don't think about where they were headed and what the plan was once they got there. He was failing miserably.

Fortune smiled down on him, for once. Not one person passed them as they sped down halls and towards the elevator. The people in the lobby didn't glance up from what they were doing. The elevator was empty when the doors opened. Not that Sam immediately noticed such a thing, too busy appreciating the water droplets trailing off Gabriel's hair and down his back.

They stepped inside, Gabriel pressed the button for the third floor, and the doors slid shut.

The only thing that kept Sam from pinning Gabriel against the wall and continuing where he left off was the knowledge that a camera was probably somewhere in the ceiling - and he belatedly hoped the pool hadn't had one, either - and that there was a chance someone would need a ride, only to get an eyeful once the doors opened.

During his struggle with restraint, Sam's mind happily provided him with the argument that he was going against what he'd told Gabriel earlier regarding the whole 'piece of meat' thing. He merrily replied that he didn't give a shit.

Technically, he _wasn't_ being treated like a piece of meat, because he'd signed himself over the second he'd moved in for a kiss. Gabriel had even attempted to get some things off his chest. Without real prompting. Sam was merely...rewarding him! Yes. That was it. Sam was objectifying himself this go around.

His eyes cut over to see Gabriel watching him from the corner of his eyes, teasing smirk still on his face. Sam tried to pout, to be affronted that he was so obviously being toyed with. Instead, his eyes narrowed in determination. Oh, he'd wipe that stupid smirk off Gabriel's face. He'd do that and more.

The elevator doors soon opened, greeting them with the pleasant view of an empty hallway. Gabriel zipped out so quickly Sam was starting to wonder if he was cheating. No way could he walk faster than Sam, who was well on his way to speed-walking, _without_ using some Archangel-gifted abilities. The math just didn't add up otherwise.

As soon as their room was in range, Gabriel sprinted for it. Sam gave a sound of protest, forced to sprint after him because, dammit, he wasn't backing down. The door opened on its own, some tomfoolery of Gabriel's no doubt, and a grinning Gabriel dashed inside.

Sam used the door frame to pivot himself inside without losing momentum. He took only a second to register the grin still plastered on Gabriel's face - a genuine one full of mirth and not just mischief - before he tackled the other man.

They both grunted as the bed caught them. Sam lifted himself off Gabriel, just enough to look at him. Gabriel was beaming. He was having fun, and Sam felt his stubborn streak dissolving into a heap of mushy love. 'Cute' wasn't a word Sam would have readily used to describe Gabriel not too long ago, and yet there it was, at the forefront of his mind.

"Someone's enjoying himself," Sam said, Gabriel's smile infectious.

Gabriel's hand reached behind Sam to grab a hold of his neck. He pulled Sam closer.

"I'm about to enjoy _you_ a lot more," he purred.

Sam wasn't sure who moved first. He didn't care. All he was focused on was the heat of Gabriel beneath him and the filthy kiss they shared. Teeth, tongue, and lips. Wet sounds and desperate breaths. Sam pulled his arm from under Gabriel to run his hand up Gabriel's chest.

His fingers felt a subtle shift in skin texture, a raised, rougher portion of skin. As they brushed across it, Gabriel sharply sucked in air. The reaction made Sam pull back. He looked down into the distracted eyes of Gabriel, his own eyes hooded, and then followed Gabriel's line of sight down to his fingers.

Gabriel's scar.

Of course, he'd seen it in the pool. Hard not to. But he'd ignored it. After all, last time he'd laid eyes on it, Gabriel had given him a dangerous look.

He gently ran his thumb across it. He felt Gabriel tense.

"Does it hurt?" Sam asked.

Scars normally don't, but he knew Gabriel's wasn't normal. His had been caused by an Archangel blade. It had killed him. He'd been remade with the scar. Maybe there was some weird connection between it and his Grace that Sam wasn't aware of. Perhaps he should stop trying to fondle it, then, huh?

"No," Gabriel spoke after a slight pause.

Sam didn't wonder about Gabriel's slight hesitation. Instead, he moved to place an open-mouthed kiss against Gabriel's jaw. He trailed down, placed intermittent kisses against Gabriel's neck, nipped at his collar bone, and soon reached his goal.

He gently sucked at the scar, letting his teeth ghost over the flesh.

Gabriel's reaction was different this time. He gasped, hands flying into Sam's hair to grip it. He arched into Sam's mouth, hips grinding up against Sam's stomach as his legs wrapped around the taller man, keeping him close.

Sam felt Gabriel's erection through the other's cooling trunks. The damp fabric was a nuisance, and Sam was starting to loathe the feeling of his own trunks as they clung to his skin.

His hands slid down Gabriel's sides, felt subtly-toned muscle twitch at his touch.

That was another thing Sam wondered at regarding Gabriel. His body. An Archangel housed in an average man. Average height, average looks, the best combination of hard and soft. And, yet, Sam was inexplicably drawn to him. When nothing was supposed to stand out at him, it did, and he found such an attraction as endearing as the rest of Gabriel.

When Sam's hands reached Gabriel's hips, Sam squeezed to indicate his intent. Gabriel rocked up against him once more, but he complied, letting his legs fall from Sam's waist.

Sam groaned, cock twitching at the position that put Gabriel in, the vulnerability. He continued his kisses down Gabriel's skin as his fingers wrapped around the waistband of Gabriel's trunks. He gave one final nip at Gabriel's bellybutton before he pulled back to completely remove the offending article of clothing, Gabriel moving in such a way as to help the process.

Gabriel's dick sprung free, flushed and hard.

Sam had seen his fair share of penises in his life, both in person and through porn, so his pause, as he dropped the shorts in his hand to the floor, had nothing to do with any sort of shyness or surprise. Even the fact that Gabriel wasn't circumcised didn't bother him.

He smiled in mischief, settling himself between Gabriel's legs, and looked up at the challenging stare Gabriel was giving him.

"Y'know, with the whole _Casa Erotica_ thing, I woulda expected the typical pornstar size."

Sam grinned at the blank look he received, and then turned to press teasing kisses against Gabriel's inner thigh. He started at the knee and made his way down.

Gabriel hissed, hips jumping in a vain attempt to meet something that would give him friction. Sam's right hand moved to hold them down, thumb stroking Gabriel's hip bone.

"I happen to like my average dick, thank you very much," Gabriel panted.

He was starting to squirm, what with Sam's attention getting ever closer to his erection. His fingers tightened in the rough comforter beneath him as Sam sucked a bruise onto his groin.

"Kinda like it, too."

"Kind-_aaah_?"

The snark disappeared from Gabriel's voice as Sam licked a line up his cock. His back arched from the bed in a beautiful bow, fingers tightening in the sheets once again.

Sam wanted them back in his hair, clawing at his scalp, so he let his tongue run across the head of Gabriel's cock, let it tease slit and foreskin.

"_Fuuuck_," Gabriel breathed, hands still stubbornly kept from Sam.

Sam twitched at the arousal in Gabriel's voice, his dick aching with the need to do _something_. But he could wait. As long as he'd been pining after Gabriel, he could handle a few more minutes. He was going to take his sweet time unraveling an Archangel. And if that didn't make his blood sing even more.

"I intend to."

His cheeky reply earned him a small slap to the back of the head. But, finally, fingers were pushing through his hair, petting him and urging him to continue.

Sam heeded Gabriel's silent command, opening his mouth and enveloping Gabriel's cock with it. The tang of chlorine was ignored for the taste of Gabriel, beads of precum merging with saliva.

He'd feared himself out of practice, having not gone down on a man in a while, yet when he started bobbing his head, taste and smell and movement triggering his memory, his worry vanished. His pace started slow, wetting Gabriel and teasing him, before he quickened his pace. Right hand left its place on Gabriel's hip to cup his balls, massaging them.

Gabriel's grip on Sam's hair tightened as he gave a small cry of pleasure, hips jumping against Sam's hold. As Sam continued his ministrations, Gabriel's shuddering only increased. His panting was going straight to Sam's head, and dick, and the efforts he made to thrust into Sam's mouth grew stronger.

Sam moaned around Gabriel, fully aware of how the vibrations would feel to the other. However, he'd misjudged Gabriel's strength. His left hand meant nothing to the force behind Gabriel's next thrust. Only experience and quick thinking saved him from gagging.

Right. Archangel. Who was currently losing control of himself.

Sam's right hand went back to Gabriel's hip, earning a disappointed whine from Gabriel. When Sam took a quick look at Gabriel's face, he knew from its blissed-out expression that he wasn't _too_ disappointed.

Soon, Gabriel was quivering under him.

"Sam," he huffed between gasps, "Sam. _Fuck._"

The sound of a snap didn't register until _after_ he noticed the lack of weight from his swimming trunks. A tap on the head drew his attention. He pulled his mouth off Gabriel's dick, loving the wet sound his lips made when he did so, to see what he wanted. Because Gabriel had to want _something_, or he wouldn't be distracting Sam from his job.

A red bottle of lube was dangled in front of his face. He nearly had to cross his eyes to read the label.

"Not that I don't love what you're doing down there, cowboy, but you mind ridin' the horse before he blows his load?"

Sam tried to frown at the lube, a smirk fighting against it.

"Strawberry?" He teased.

"I'm a creature of habit. _Fuck me._"

With a grin, Sam took the proffered bottle and moved back. He popped the top, poured some of the liquid onto his fingers, and was immediately hit with the fruity scent of strawberries. Somehow, he managed not to laugh at the thought of it lingering on their skin after they were done. He placed the bottle to the side.

After rubbing the lube between his fingers, to make sure it was warm enough, he brushed them against Gabriel's hole. No shyness was in his actions, and Gabriel's impatient gaze made him go faster than usual when it came to preparing his partners.

He tested the waters, slowly and steadily inserting his first finger inside Gabriel. He was gifted with a pleased moan, Gabriel's head tilting back to expose that beautiful neck of his. It wasn't just the lube that made it easy to slide his finger in and out, though. Gabriel was doing a wonderful job of keeping the muscle around Sam's finger nice and loose.

Gabriel waited practically no time in trying to fuck himself on the finger inside him, so Sam played along, pressing his middle finger alongside his first.

At that, Gabriel _did_ pause, eyebrows pinching together for a second before they smoothed. His darkened eyes stared at the ceiling as he panted and adjusted. He recovered fast and began to move again, rocking down to meet Sam's thrusts.

God, Gabriel was hot, Sam reminded himself.

He bent over Gabriel, capturing his mouth in another searing kiss. Gabriel returned it just as fiercely, hands coming up to grip Sam's face. Hands that could crush him if Gabriel wanted them to. 'I could swat you like a fly,' he'd said. Yet, he wouldn't. Instead, he showed Sam love. He was finally letting him in.

In more ways than one.

Sam curved the fingers inside Gabriel.

Gabriel jerked away from him, whole body tensing as he gasped and trembled at the shock that ran through him.

And Sam, reveling at the sight of him, deviously continued to rub at Gabriel's prostate.

He only stopped when Gabriel managed to stop his bucking and open his eyes to _glare_ at him. In one heated look, he clearly imparted his desire for Sam to stop teasing him and get the fuck on with the fucking.

Sam grinned but decided to humor him nonetheless. After all, Gabriel was stretched well enough, definitely relaxed enough, and Sam was finding it harder and harder to ignore his hard-on. He removed his fingers to reach for the lube, causing Gabriel to sag in momentary relief.

Sam poured a decent amount of the slick liquid into his palm, capped the bottle, and tossed it to the floor.

"For someone who was so eager to get in my pants, you sure are takin' your sweet ass time," Gabriel complained, already sounding worn out.

Sam smiled at Gabriel's crankiness as he rubbed the lube on his cock.

It took a good amount of self control to not buck into his hand. He was _way_ too sensitive, thanks to how long he'd taken fooling around, and it was coming back to bite him. He _knew_ he wasn't going to last long, he just hoped he could satisfy Gabriel before then.

"Technically, you're the one with the sweet ass," he joked.

Gabriel looked as if he didn't know whether to curse Sam for his pun or congratulate him. He never made up his mind, distracted as he was when Sam hovered over him again.

"No condom?" Sam critiqued.

"I'm clean. You're clean."

"The sheets won't be."

"I will damn the sheets, Sam. Ya hear me? To Hell with the sheets."

Sam was starting to suspect that his face was going to be stuck in a cocky grin if Gabriel kept being adorably frustrated. He pulled away again, earning an aggravated groan from Gabriel.

"Alright, fine. But move up the bed. Unless you want my legs giving out halfway through?"

Sam was strong. He had good stamina. These things helped in the bedroom. However, as excited as he was, there _was_ a chance an orgasm would make his knees give out on him if he fucked Gabriel while Gabriel was lying sideways across the bed. Not the sexiest way to finish.

Gabriel rolled his eyes but complied. He rolled over onto his side and practically flung himself at the pillows at the head of the bed. Then, he resumed his previous position, legs invitingly spread and cock flush against his stomach. He spread his arms wide, palms up, and smiled sarcastically at Sam, as if to say, 'Happy? Wanna get on with it?'

Luckily for him, Sam _did_ want to get on with it. He climbed onto the bed and over Gabriel. He bent down to press a gentle, apologetic kiss to Gabriel's lips, and Gabriel hummed his forgiveness.

The head of his cock pressing against Gabriel's entrance had them both hissing in anticipation, kiss momentarily forgotten as they focused on the feeling.

Sam pushed in gradually, pushed against muscle that, despite being stretched and relaxed, still gave him some resistance and well-appreciated friction. He felt Gabriel's legs wrap around him again, urging him in deeper. Arms wrapped around his back, fingernails digging between his shoulder blades. Instinct told him thrust, to sheathe himself within Gabriel as quickly as possible, but willpower held him back. He didn't know Gabriel's body well enough yet. He wasn't trying to hurt him.

They were both trembling and panting once Sam was completely inside Gabriel.

Gabriel was all around him, under him, warm and strong, yet _soft_. Too many sensations were warring for Sam's attention that he had to stop for a second, taking them all in as he wrapped his arms underneath Gabriel and held him. He mouthed at Gabriel's neck, tasting his skin and sweat and wishing he could smell him. Anything other than that damn chlorine that masked his natural scent.

Gabriel returned his affections. He peppered kisses along Sam's shoulder, massaged his neck with his thumb, let his hands roam up and down Sam's solid back. Those hands felt both exploratory and soothing, unhurried and reverent.

Gabriel placed his head against Sam's and whispered in his ear.

"Move, Sam."

Sam moved. Slowly at first, barely pulling out of Gabriel before he pushed back in. Gabriel kept him close, and Sam didn't mind. They kept their arms wrapped around each other as Sam grew confident enough to pick up the pace, no longer afraid he'd damage the other.

The sounds of skin moving against skin and gasping breath filled the room, soon followed by uncontrolled whimpers, shaky moans, and a creaky spring. Neither one of them were screamers, but their sounds were pure and honest. They fueled each other's passion as much as Sam's thrusts did.

He wasn't going to last. He didn't _want _to last, and he suspected Gabriel didn't, either. Hips starting to stutter, Sam lifted himself from Gabriel just enough to reach a hand between them. He grasped Gabriel's cock and marveled at the moan that fell from Gabriel's lips.

Gabriel's own rhythm, his thrusts to meet Sam, faltered as Sam began to pump him.

"Sam," Gabriel gasped, breathless. His hand moved to grip the back of Sam's skull, fingers tangling in his hair as Sam panted against his neck.

"Gabe. _Gabe_."

Sam's whine morphed into a small cry as he came, hips slamming roughly into Gabriel. His hand's rhythm on Gabriel's cock became sloppy, but he persisted, trying to push Gabriel over the edge with him.

"Gabriel," he pleaded.

Gabriel inhaled sharply, and then his back arched. His arms left Sam in order to slam against the mattress, fingers clawing into the sheets beneath them. Sam felt the cum on his hands, felt it smear down Gabriel's dick, but he didn't care about that. He was much more focused on the way Gabriel looked when he came, the way he shook as he tried to hold himself back. Not from his orgasm, but something else. Static clung to Sam's body.

He draped himself across Gabriel, panted against his shoulder as the hand around Gabriel's dick moved to stroke reassurance against the other's hip. Even after Gabriel's legs released their grip on him, he stayed where he was as he came down. And Gabriel seemed content to let him, fingers trailing lightly up and down Sam's back.

Once he'd caught his breath and fatigue began to set in, Sam pulled himself from Gabriel. He flinched slightly as his dick slid free, a reaction Gabriel mirrored, then laid down beside him. He rested his cheek on Gabriel's shoulder and left his arm draped over him, their legs tangled comfortably.

After a moment of companionable silence, Sam muttered, "We should shower."

Gabriel's left hand raised and snapped. Instantly, the cum that had been smeared across the both of them vanished, as well as the smell of sweat and sex. Even the evidence of their visit to the pool was gone.

"You just turned down showering together," Sam stated, only a little disappointed.

No doubt showering with Gabriel could lead to more fun times. If nothing else, it would've been nice to be intimate with him in other ways than just sex. However, Sam's body was busy pumping him with all sorts of nice chemicals that were commanding him to relax, and sleep was looking better by the second.

"Should also probably stop using your powers for sex."

"Never," Gabriel replied, sounding just as relaxed as Sam.

Sam's brows twitched in assent.

Of course Gabriel wouldn't stop using the power of an Archangel for something as mundane, if personal, as sex. He was, after all, Loki. He had, after all, once joked about having _lots_ of sex. And, hey, being able to command reality probably offered a lot of interesting perks and scenarios. He couldn't really fault the man.

Sam closed his eyes and let himself drift. Gabriel didn't sleep, and he'd once complained about Sam being an octopus that kicked, but maybe he'd forgive Sam for having a quick nap while still cuddling him.

He didn't know how many minutes had passed, certainly not too many, before Gabriel spoke again, his gentle voice startling Sam.

"Why do you even like me?"

His question was earnest. So much so that Sam raised his head to stare at the side of Gabriel's face.

Gabriel kept his expression carefully blank.

Sam knew he expected an answer. Yet, in that moment, Sam couldn't think of one. He didn't really know how to quantify all the small things about Gabriel, and some big things, that had come together in such a way that made him fall for him. However, something Gabriel had once said came to mind, and Sam smiled at the memory.

"You add humor. You're easy on the eyes," he teased, his fingers trailing along Gabriel's side.

His joke, though true, earned a genuine smile from Gabriel. He knew what Sam wasn't saying. What he was saying.

"I'm not a slab of meat here for your entertainment, y'know," he fired back.

"I know." The smile faded from Sam's lips. "I didn't mean - "

"I know what you meant, Sam," Gabriel interrupted gently. He turned his face towards Sam's. "And I don't see you like that."

Gabriel's eyes roamed across Sam's features, an emotion Sam hadn't seen before in them. At least, he'd never seen said emotion coming from _Gabriel_ before. It simultaneously warmed Sam's heart _and _made him nervous.

When those amber eyes finally found Sam's, Gabriel paused before admitting, "You're the only human I've slept with."

Sam's thoughts ground to a halt. His mind replayed Gabriel's statement at least three times before it declared it couldn't make heads nor tails of what had been said. Because it didn't make sense. Sam's mouth opened and shut in his confusion.

"But," he began lamely. "The Trickster - "

"'Lots of sex, if you catch my drift?'" Gabriel smiled, "Yeah, that wasn't so much sex as it was fancy masturbation. _Great_ fancy masturbation, but masturbation nonetheless."

"_How?_"

"Those girls that beat up Dean? The _Casa Erotica _girl?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "You can have sex with illusions?"

The twinkle in Gabriel's eye confirmed that yes, yes he could have sex with illusions. Which was weird, all things considered. How real did Gabriel's illusions have to be in order for them not to instantly disappear once he was distracted by, say, orgasm? Another question burned within Sam, though.

"Why?"

The twinkle vanished into that carefully concealing mask of his. Gabriel turned his attention back to the ceiling. Yet, Sam could sense that _he_ wasn't the cause of Gabriel's guarded mood, so he waited patiently for Gabriel's answer.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Because nephilim are a thing. Or, they _were_. Until I helped orchestrate their demise." He took a deep breath, "Kinda didn't want to endanger anybody else with angel-human relations after that. Rules are rules, and Mikey's a dick. ...Even as Loki...I didn't want to risk it."

Nephilim. Angel spawn, his brain helpfully reminded him. Angels and humans weren't supposed to breed. Because, according to lore, their children were monstrous. Giants, or worse. Bloodthirsty. Warmongering. Sam wasn't sure how much of that was true, as non-canonical books within the 'Bible' were about as accurate as, well, the Bible when it came to angels and their role within history.

Just as Anna had been painted an abomination simply for becoming human, it was possible the nephilim were considered the same for their human lineage.

Angels really didn't seem to like humanity. Weird, considering how insistent Castiel was to their 'original Mission' having something to do with humanity. Oh, and, Sam'd recently had sex with an Archangel.

"Guess it's a good thing I can't have kids?" Sam tried to joke. Anything to lighten the mood a little.

Thankfully, his ill attempt at humor worked. Gabriel's smile came back, now with mischief dancing at the corner of his lips. He rolled his head to face Sam again.

"Yeah, we mighta had to use the condom then."

"Flavored?"

"Hmm."

"Strawberry?"

Gabriel grinned.

"I dunno. _Passionfruit_ sounds pretty nice."

Sam snorted, unable to hide his dopey grin against Gabriel's shoulder.

"Your jokes are the worst."

"And just a minute ago you said I added humor. I'm getting mixed signals, again, Sam."

"Shut up."

* * *

When Sam woke up, he was pleased to still feel Gabriel in his arms. He wouldn't have been heartbroken to find him gone, knowing Gabriel's preference when it came to his space, but he did enjoy being pleasantly surprised for once.

He took a deep breath and snuggled closer to the other, the leg thrown over Gabriel's moving up his thigh. It felt like so long since he'd had the creature comfort of another's skin pressed against his own and, by God, he was going to enjoy it. As long as Gabriel allowed him, anyway.

Sam dozed for a few minutes, content to merely focus on the shifting of Gabriel's chest under his arm as Gabriel breathed. The pulse that calmly beat underneath. Proof of life within a body that housed a creature not made of flesh and blood, and certainly not made of anything found on Earth. What an oddly comforting notion, Sam mused.

A frown started to form on his face, however, when he realized that the pace of Gabriel's vital signs pointed to him being asleep. Angels don't sleep. Not unless something really bad has happened to them.

He finally opened his eyes and tilted his head back to look at Gabriel's face. Sure enough, Gabriel's eyes were closed.

Sam inhaled sharply, body about to jolt into action to rouse Gabriel, to see what was wrong. However, at the jerk, Gabriel's eyes opened and immediately lighted on Sam's. Sam relaxed a little.

Despite having been asleep seconds ago, Gabriel's eyes were bright and alert. He stared at Sam, as if waiting for him to do something. So, Sam obliged.

"Angels don't sleep," he mumbled, concern and embarrassment evident in his voice.

"Nope. Not generally. But they do occasionally retreat into their Vessels to chillax in their own headspace for a bit." Gabriel shrugged his free shoulder. "Think of it like meditation. Or a computer goin' into hibernation. ...Which, okay, technically is a sleep mode. It's not _your_ version of sleep, how 'bout that?"

Sam smiled at Gabriel's faulty explanation, but it relieved him nonetheless. He was glad he hadn't accidentally drained Gabriel's powers. Of course, the idea turned his smile into a smirk. Gabriel squinted suspiciously at him.

"And here I thought I'd managed to knock out an Archangel through mind-blowing sex."

Gabriel crowed a laugh.

"In your dreams, kiddo. Even _gods_ can't pull that off. You gave it your best, though. A for effort."

"That wasn't my best."

"Ooh. And what is?" Gabriel challenged.

Sam grinned toothily and pushed himself up the few inches needed to kiss Gabriel. Gabriel tilted his head, lips capturing Sam's. Unlike their charged words, their kiss was tame, though no less intimate. Sam's hand moved up and across Gabriel's chest, coming to rest over his scar.

The sound of the door's handle being used barely registered to Sam. However, the following, 'Hey,' and subsequent masculine scream did.

The door slammed shut. Another muffled scream came through it.

Sam didn't remember the door being shut. Obviously, it had been. Probably Gabriel's doing, since he'd also opened the door before they'd had their little romp. Which led to Sam's other train of thought: Dean didn't have a card key to their room. The door couldn't open without one. Or without Gabriel.

Sam's lips left Gabriel's with a quiet, wet sound. He pulled back to smile at Gabriel.

"Was that necessary?" He questioned, only marginally annoyed.

Gabriel's vulpine smile stated that it was. He was not repentant for blinding Dean with their naked bodies. Or their position. Or what they were doing when he'd walked in.

Of course. Because Gabriel would never be able to pass up an opportunity to dig at Dean.

Sam's cell phone went off, buzzing and ringing on the dresser. He rolled his eyes at Gabriel and extracted himself from their tangle of limbs. He went to his phone, unsurprised to see Dean calling, and ignored the wolf whistle Gabriel gave him.

"Yeah?" Sam asked.

"Put your goddamn clothes on and meet me at the car. We got a case," Dean barked.

His voice didn't hold much bite, however. Sam could tell he was shaken by what he'd witnessed. That, or the 'case' he was talking about was _really _troubling. Sam's brow furrowed as he began to worry.

"What's wrong?"

"I need brain bleach is what's wrong, Sam! Would it kill you to put a tie on the doorknob! Or a 'Busy fucking an Archangel' sign! I'm not going to be able to sleep for weeks, thank you _very_ much!"

Either Dean was back in his room or he'd merely had stopped caring what people would think about a man walking down the halls, screaming about someone having sex with angels.

Behind him, Sam heard Gabriel get off the bed. With a snap, Sam was disturbed to find himself clothed in the outfit he'd set out earlier.

Yeah, he wasn't going to get used to Gabriel doing that anytime soon.

"I don't think they make signs like that, Dean."

"Oh, ha ha."

"I meant about the case. What's going on? Is it Cas?"

Sam supposed it was a good thing he'd never really gotten around to unpacking his things. Less stuff to shove back in. His side twitched when Gabriel ran his fingers across it as he walked by, headed for the door. Oh, Sam hoped he hadn't noticed. The last thing he needed was the Archangel thinking he was ticklish.

Which he wasn't. Mostly.

"No. Crowley. Says he's got Abaddon in his sights. Gave me the location of the Blade. We need to get it and shank the bitch. Now."

Sam's pleasant mood evaporated.

He knew they had to take out Abaddon. So much of their time had been spent trying to do just that. Yet, he feared Dean having the First Blade more than he feared the infamous Knight of Hell. What if something went wrong? What if his brother couldn't stop? What if Dean wouldn't let go?

"Oh," Sam replied, lifeless. "Um. Great. That's… I'll be right down. Gabriel's already on his way. Where're we going?"

"Cemetary. Not far from here, actually. Not sure if Crowley's been keepin' close to it or if he's been dragging it around with him."

"Right. Okay. See ya in a sec."

Dean hung up first, though Sam was already in the process of removing the phone from his ear to do so himself.

Sam stared down at the small device in his hand, thoughts racing.

He wasn't prepared. If Dean killed Abaddon, like he had to, Sam wasn't sure what he could to do. Maybe Gabriel could help, like he said he would. Change the Mark on Dean's arm to prevent it from corrupting him further. But what if killing Abaddon made the curse spread faster? Because Dean would be doing something demonic, murder, what Cain was known for.

Sam placed his head in his hand, palm pressing into his forehead. After taking a calming breath, he let his arm fall to his side.

First thing was first. Grab his shit, get down to the car. He had time to think of something. Maybe. He hoped.

It was dark when he stepped outside, and he wondered how long he'd been sleeping. He hadn't exactly looked at the clock when Dean called.

He wasn't so shocked to see Dean grumpily ignoring Gabriel, both on either side of the car and not in it. Gabriel, however, looked self-satisfied, eyes cut to the side to stare in victory at the back of Dean's head. Sam shook his head at the two, deciding to put his bags in the trunk instead of address the situation.

More than ten minutes into a silent car ride, however, Sam's resolve crumbled. The air needed to be cleared before he suffocated in it.

"You...wanna talk about it?" Sam prompted Dean.

"Nope," Dean dismissed quickly. "Nope. No. I'm good."

"You're a terrible liar," Gabriel purred from the back, earning a look of warning from Sam.

"Fuck you," Dean snapped.

"Sam did."

"Alright - !"

"_Dean_," Sam interrupted before he did something stupid, like pull over on the side of the road to scold them. "I get it."

"No, Sam, you really don't. Getting an eyeful of angel dong is one thing. I can, eventually, get over that. ...I hope. I've seen your dick before, too, so that doesn't even bother me. What _does_ bother me is that: This entire time you've been sayin' you weren't bangin' Gabriel. I even, stupidly, came to think you weren't. Though, I admit, I kept the jokes up. Yet, you clearly were."

Sam frowned at Dean, but it was more amused than upset.

"I _haven't_ been bangin' Gabriel," he clarified.

Dean's eyes cut over to stare at him, not sure if he should believe him or not.

"Bro's right, Dean-o," Gabriel added.

Dean's grip on the Impala's steering wheel loosened. His body language went from aggravated to confused. Then, he shook his head at something he clearly thought was absurd.

"You let _Gabriel_ steal your V-card?"

Sam's brow rose, "I...wasn't a virgin? You know that?"

"For girls, yeah, but - "

"I've had sex with guys before, Dean. Also thought you knew that?"

Dean's mouth worked as he tried to comprehend. Sam watched him.

Surely, Dean knew. He was all the time cracking jokes about it. Which, yeah, really came off as homophobic at times, but… He'd considered Sam having sex with Gabriel long before Sam had. Kinda. And never once had he batted an eye about Sam possibly being anything other than straight. How could he _not_ know?

Dean held up a finger as something occurred to him.

"Who was that guy Crowley called your demon lover that one time? Years back? Didn't you know him from Stanford? Bradley, or something?" He asked.

Sam nodded slowly, "Brady. ...And he wasn't my _demon_ lover back then. I… I kinda stopped seeing him when he came back not acting like Brady. I mean, I tried to help him, of course, but... He introduced me to Jess, like he was trying to pawn me off on her, and I thought - "

He'd loved Jessica. He really had. But he'd also cared about Brady. It hurt having someone tell you you were better off with someone else, because they didn't want you. And then they introduce you to whom you _should_ be with. Double ow.

"I thought he was joking!" Dean exclaimed, genuinely upset he'd missed the memo.

"No."

Dean's jaw dropped, "And that time you didn't react to my gay thing! Or how you said you'd dated some_one_ bendy. You said some_one_! I thought you'd meant a girl, but that was gender neutral."

"I'm witnessin' a miracle, here," Gabriel spoke up. "Dean Winchester's actually using his brain to figure somethin' out. Pigs are flyin'. Hell has frozen over. Though, really - "

Gabriel yelped when Dean took a swat at his legs. Dean missed, but he persisted. The car swerved to the shoulder as Dean leaned into the backseat to actually make contact with Gabriel's knees and thighs. Sam cried out in complaint, his own hands taking over for Dean's to keep them from traveling into the ditch.

"Dude!" Sam shouted, keeping his eyes on the road, unlike his brother.

Dean huffed but resumed his driving duties, slapping Sam away from the wheel.

"You slept _with that_," Dean griped. "Outta _aaall_ the fish in the sea, you slept _with that_."

"Mmm, yeah," Sam nodded.

"I take offense to the comment that I'mma fish," Gabriel remarked, casual.

Dean rolled his eyes and hung his head.

At least, for this leg of the journey, he was still Dean. Sam's smile faltered when he remember that might not last much longer.

* * *

**A/N: **You're welcome.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **"Just know I'm trying not to take two months between updates," I once said, about two months ago, before Google, for whatever damn reason, decided I'd done something that warranted deleting my gmail. I thought I'd lost all of my work. Then, I wondered what would happen if I checked Google Drive on my phone. Surprise! I hadn't lost all my work. It had somehow moved to my new gmail. I'm not complaining.

Also, certain pieces of this chapter I have taken many liberties with. Let us diverge from the canon, shall we?

Song worth mention: "Beat the Devil's Tattoo" by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

* * *

Saint Anthony's Cemetery was an odd little thing, nestled amongst trees and on a decent amount of land for being in the city. Of course, it being _in the city_ was going to pose problems. Even with a lack of light from street lamps and the blackness of the Impala, a wayward citizen could easily stumble upon three, curious figures. Not that Sam and Dean had never run into such a problem before, but Cleveland response time was probably better than, say, the local police force of a town that may as well be considered 'the middle of nowhere.'

The conversation, after Sam's reveal, had settled down into companionable silence, only broken when Sam asked exactly _where_ in the cemetery Crowley had hid the First Blade.

Crowley had hidden it within a coffin, or so he'd told Dean. Some guy by the name of Chandler Deforest, recently deceased. The recently deceased part led Sam to believe his theory over Crowley moving the Blade with him wherever he traveled. Gabriel's attention, however, had been on the man's unfortunate name.

"'Chandler Deforest.'" He'd snorted. "Yeah, I suppose candles lead to deforestation. His parents musta _loved_ him."

As soon as Dean turned onto the gravel road leading further into the cemetery, he turned off the Impala's headlights. It helped with their stealth, sure, but Sam felt the effort half-useless, since her engine was as loud as any muscle car's. Hopefully, no one cared about the barely-visible, purring beast disappearing into the cemetery.

"Saint Anthony's," Gabriel mused after reading the entrance sign. "That only narrows it down to a _handful_ of saints. Props to the demon using _hallowed_ ground to store somethin' bigger and badder than him. The irony is not lost."

"Hallowed ground doesn't mean anything to demons," Dean grumbled.

"Nah, Dean, I live under a rock." Gabriel snarked. "I know that! Point is: Folks who _don't_ shoot shotguns full o' rock salt at things that go bump in the night _don't _know that. Most still think a demon even looks at a church wrong and _pfft!_ Dust and ash."

"Still works on ghosts," Sam mumbled as the Impala came to a stop.

"Been tanglin' with ghosts in church cemeteries, have we?" Gabriel joked, only to then frown. "Er. _Not _tanglin' with ghosts in church cemeteries? ...You know what I mean."

The Impala was placed in park, the engine turned off. With the size of the cemetery, Sam hoped Crowley had at least given Dean some directions to Chandler's grave. Otherwise, they'd have to break out the flashlights and go checking, headstone after headstone, until they found the guy. Three pairs of flashlights were a lot more conspicuous than the headlights of a car.

"Alright, enough chit-chat," Dean commanded. "We gotta find this guy, dig 'im up, get the Blade, and then find out where the hell Abaddon is before she bolts."

So, Crowley _had_ left out where the guy was buried. Yipee. The King of Hell must not have been in a hurry, or he would've thought that part through. ...Or, he'd intentionally left that part out because he was an asshole. Both options wouldn't have surprised Sam.

"Wow. Makes us do all the work, huh?" Gabriel continued to tease. "Some partner in crime he is."

"Says the man who made us do all the work before."

"Hey, I came around! ...Eventually."

"Yeah. _Eventually_. After we had to chew your ass - Oh, God, images!"

Dean cringed and placed his hands over his face, as if that would stop his overactive imagination from painting a picture based on the scene he'd witnessed not thirty minutes ago.

Sam rolled his eyes at the gesture. It was Dean's own fault he had a sex-charged mind, not Sam's or Gabriel's. Though, Gabriel was probably in the same boat. Not that it mattered.

"Guys," Sam spoke up. "You realize we're _still_ in the car, right?"

"Yeah, Dean. Plenty o' time to think about my ass later. You two got a grave to dig up."

"You're helping."

"Wuh!"

Sam turned in his seat to stare pointedly at Gabriel.

Gabriel's betrayed expression didn't last long under Sam's scrutiny. His mouth snapped shut, his lips forming a pout. The annoyed look he cast over Dean's shoulder held none of the fire it usually did when Gabriel was _genuinely_ upset.

He was having fun with his act of petulance.

The three of them went about their business, Dean wearing a cocky smirk that definitely had to do with Sam getting onto Gabriel. Shovels were retrieved from the trunk. Dean tried handing his to Gabriel, enjoying the annoyed look Gabriel gave him in return. The shovel was refused. Dean shrugged, nonchalant, and then slammed the trunk shut after Sam fished out the flashlights.

"Alright, angel, get to work." Dean nodded to Gabriel as he turned to face him.

Gabriel's brow scrunched in confusion.

"Get to work doin' what, snookums?"

Dean silently gagged. His following look of disgust was far more offended than Gabriel even thought of being.

"You two got a perfect pair o' hands for diggin'," Gabriel continued. "I'll pick up when ya get tired. Maybe."

"You got that angel radar crap that Cas has, right?" Dean asked. "Dude once looked over the entire globe in a handful of seconds. To find _your _Horn, no less."

"Yeah, how'd that turn out?"

"It didn't. Not the point. He still had the ability. Why don't you scan this cemetery for Mr. Deforestation? Point us in the right direction."

Gabriel's brow rose at Dean's command. The silence that followed was the result of him weighing his options. He had two: Do as Dean said, and Sam had prompted, and, once again, compromise that once-upon-a-time declaration that he wasn't going to jump when they told him to, or dig his feet into the ground and prolong the inevitable.

After a moment, Gabriel rolled his eyes. His arm moved to firmly point deeper into the graveyard, not too far from a mausoleum.

Dean smiled. "See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"You better be glad I can see in the dark."

Dean's next taunt died in his throat as Gabriel's words finally registered. The concept of Gabriel having night-vision seemed to spook Dean. Sam, however, nodded, impressed. It wasn't exactly _hard_ to believe angels could see light differently, or manipulate how their human bodies perceived it, considering they were, after all, _beings_ of light. Such a trick was certainly less creepy than Cas being able to sniff out a UTI in a dead guy.

Unnerved, Dean adjusted his hold on his shovel and wandered off in the direction Gabriel had guided them towards.

Though Gabriel'd given the general direction, he refused to give them a more accurate reading. How far did they have to walk? Exactly which headstone was the one they were looking for? No, he said. They could find that out on their own with their inferior flashlights. He would be helpful, but not _too _helpful. Gabriel per usual.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Gabriel's antics still brought a mischievous smirk to Sam's face. Mostly because Dean was getting grouchier by the minute. Ah, well. He'd need the attitude to take his frustration out on the dirt they'd have to power through to get to their goal.

Sam's flashlight was the one to land on Deforest's headstone. After blandly stating, 'Found it,' he and Dean went to work.

In retrospect, the grave should've been a dead giveaway. Grass had only recently started to regrow on top of the dirt that'd been thrown on the coffin.

They'd been so focused on names, the thought to search for such a hint hadn't occurred to Sam. Probably focusing half his attention on Gabriel hadn't been the smartest thing to do, given the circumstances. After all, this was _Crowley_ they were dealing with. He wouldn't leave something like the First Blade unguarded.

"Keep your eyes peeled, Legolas." Dean told Gabriel as he began to shovel.

"Hardy har har, Frodo."

"Hey, why do I gotta be the hobbit? You're the short one!"

"'Cause I'm the one with the eyes and you're the one with the debilitating effects of the Mark weighing ya down. Duh."

"You two gonna keep up the corny jokes?" Sam asked, though he was still enjoying their banter. "I'm sure whatever trap Crowley's laid for us would love to hear more. ...If it has ears."

"Oh, it's got ears all right." Gabriel stated as he folded his arms and leaned his hip against the headstone. "And teeth. Claws. Drool."

Dean paused in his work to look at Gabriel. Sam, however, knew what he was describing. He picked up his pace because of it. Six feet of dirt to get through before becoming dog chow. Yeah, his pulse was climbing higher and higher. This job was going to be fun.

"Hellhound? Really?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, seem to be everywhere these days, don't they?" Gabriel shrugged. "Pick up the pep, boys. I'd go faster if I were you."

Dean went back to work, though he clearly was upset that Gabriel hadn't offered to zap the dirt out of their way. Or just teleport the Blade into their hands.

Hell, what did Sam know? Maybe the Blade would only listen to Dean's call? And, even then, it wasn't like it could phase through solid matter to get to him.

Every once in a while, Sam looked up from the dirt at his feet to spot Gabriel. He watched Gabriel's eyes move, focused on something in the distance. Something Sam would put money on being a hellhound. The only thing that kept him from picking up speed even more was the fact that he'd have to pace himself to make it through a night of digging.

Luckily, since the grave was still relatively fresh, the dirt still somewhat loose, it took them only about three hours to get down to the coffin. The lid was raised and a not-so-pleasant discovery was made.

The Blade wasn't in the coffin. Sam panicked, momentarily, as well as Dean, before he began patting frantically at the grossly decomposing corpse. Doing so, he came to the second not-so-pleasant discovery.

The Blade was in the body - a solid, inhuman mass buried in the torso.

Sam cringed. "Did he? Did he _really_ hide it _in _the corpse? Not _with_ it but _in _it?"

Dean shrugged. "I gotta say: It's not the first place I'd look."

A low growl caught Sam and Dean's attention. They looked to each other before glancing at Gabriel.

It wasn't that they didn't know _what_ had made the growl. The hellhound was the obvious culprit. What both were wondering was if Gabriel was going to do anything about it. He'd sat idly by all three hours of digging, chatting with them as if they weren't getting dirty and sweaty while he wasn't.

Gabriel's expression was hard, staring off into the distance across from him, behind Sam and Dean. He didn't move, so Sam didn't move. Neither did Dean.

At the sound of a wet snarl, however, they did move. Sam and Dean jerked, both trying to clamber out of the grave and make a break for it. However, Gabriel was faster. His arm rose, his fingers snapped, and the sound of flesh exploding filled the air.

Sam paused, his hands on the edge of the hole they'd dug, his shovel left in the dirt, and looked over his shoulder into the darkness that surrounded them. Of course, since hellhounds bled black, it wasn't like he could see a bloody smear on the grass. Yet, considering he wasn't getting mauled in the face, he safely assumed the chunky splort had, indeed, been the hellhound exploding.

"Ew," he deadpanned.

He looked back to Gabriel, only then seeing Dean's equally disgusted face. Said disgusted face quickly turned into one of annoyance.

"Did you have to kill it!" Dean complained.

"Mmm, no," Gabriel replied. "Didja wanna be dog chow, though? 'Cause, if ya'd told me sooner, I woulda happily obliged."

"Crowley hates it when you kill his dogs!" Dean went on to explain. "Fuck, the last one we killed he wouldn't shut up about."

Gabriel didn't seem to care. So, Dean threw his hands into the air and went back to the task at hand. He looked down at the deceased Chandler, furled his nose, and looked back up with a suffering smile.

"Who wants to do the honors?" He asked.

Immediately, Sam decided he would do it. He'd gladly tough through digging his hand into a decomposing corpse if it meant Dean didn't lay a hand on the First Blade before he had to. He didn't want the damn thing corrupting his brother more than it already had.

However, he never got the chance.

With a disgusting squelch, the Blade ripped free of its prison and flew into Gabriel's waiting hand.

Dean's infamous glare snapped to Gabriel. Gabriel gave him a cool look in return.

"This stays with me," Gabriel said, voice low.

"Like hell it does!" Dean snarled.

Sam's brow knitted at the sudden shift in Dean's behavior, his anger. He knew what caused it, the almost territorial effect of the Blade, but it still startled and upset him to see Dean switch so suddenly.

Gabriel's lips formed a cruel, amused smile, his eyes dancing at Dean's challenge. He stood from his seat on Chandler's headstone. With a clap, the Blade vanished from his hand. Dean jumped at its disappearance, but Gabriel kept smiling. He wiggled his fingers, the finale to his magic trick.

"Knock it off with the constipated look, Dean," Gabriel purred. "You'll get it back. When you need it. Until then? I'm making sure you don't get the random urge to embed it in your brother."

Unease spread through Sam.

They'd had this conversation before, he and Gabriel. What felt like forever ago. 'No matter how much you plead, no matter how many times he hits you, _nothing_ will stop him until you're dead.' Gabriel's words then had been heartfelt. He'd believed what he'd told Sam. Now? The words he gave Dean? They were no less serious, but they held within them danger and an unconcealed threat.

Dean opened his mouth to refute Gabriel, yet nothing came out. He clenched his jaw tightly, fuming, but he dropped the issue. As if even he didn't trust himself.

Sam didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

* * *

"You don't…" Sam trailed off, fingers gripping the pillow under his head a bit too tightly. "You don't think he'd…"

Gabriel didn't bother to look up from the magazine he was reading, something he'd pilfered from the lobby downstairs.

It was the early hours of the morning, and Sam still hadn't fallen asleep. He'd tried, of course. Shut his eyes like a good little boy and did everything from counting sheep to regulating his breathing. His body didn't care. His mind continued to race. He dreaded the next day. Or the current day. Whichever.

"You already know the answer to that question, Sam."

With an aggravated huff, Sam pushed himself onto his elbow and glowered at Gabriel. Again, Gabriel was the perfect picture of calm, bedside lamp casting a glow around his head that would've intrigued Sam in other circumstances.

"_Why?"_ Sam demanded. "What makes you think - ?"

"The real question you're asking is, 'Why Dean?' Why's he cursed? What's the deal with the fratricide I warned ya about? Why _you?_"

Gabriel's words stung. Because they were true.

Sam lowered his gaze to the sheet underneath him. His eyes picked apart the fibers in a desperate attempt to do anything but look at the man - the Archangel - beside him. He hid the emotion welling up in them behind his lashes. Or, he tried to, anyway. Somehow, he figured Gabriel could still see it, see him.

The magazine was closed and plopped onto the bedside table. Sam didn't look up.

"Your brother's a naive fool, that's why."

"He was just trying to help."

"Ha!" Gabriel's bitterness was palpable. "Just as I'm sure Qayin was trying to help Hevel when he slit his throat."

Sam's brow furrowed. Finally drawing his gaze from the bed, he gave Gabriel an uncertain look. Gabriel took one look at the expression and sighed. He shrugged and shook his head.

"_Cain_ and _Abel?_ The _other_ set of brothers that had to deal with the Mark?"

Sam took a deep breath. Of course he knew of them, though he hadn't heard their other names before. He'd done so much research over the story of them that it had often felt his brain would bleed out of his ears just to stop. Yet, never, in any of the accounts, did it mention Cain slitting Abel's throat.

Sam's memory drifted back to Magnus. Dean had taken his head clean off, and the Blade had only called to him stronger, after that. Had it remembered? Remembered Cain attempting to do the same to Abel?

With a sigh, he turned and fell on his back. He stared up at the ceiling, as if it would give him the answers he sought.

He knew how it felt to have his throat slashed, to feel the helplessness that came with knowing there was no stopping the blood gushing out or the pain. He knew how it felt to choke on his own blood, to not have air reach his lungs, to _die_. But to suffer that fate at the hands of Dean? That was a far more terrifying thought than death itself.

Because, in the end, his last thoughts would be, 'Why?' What had he done wrong? Why did Dean hate him so much? Was it because he was a freak? Did throwing himself into Hell not amend some of his mistakes?

Those answers he feared. Even knowing Dean wasn't himself, he'd still wonder. So, he still feared.

"I won't let him do that to you," Gabriel said, forceful.

His tone drew Sam's attention. It surprised him, as did the intensity with which Gabriel was staring down at him.

Gabriel moved. He lowered himself to nearly hover over Sam, cupped Sam's face in his hands. His eyes bore into Sam's and, at such a close distance, they were the only thing Sam could see. The weight and determination within them never faltered.

"I've _seen_ it, Sam. I've seen what the Blade does to an innocent soul. And I will keep the steaming pile of shit locked away forever if I think, for one minute, Dean will use it on you. I will _gladly_ let Abaddon run free. And, if I should make the wrong choice by giving him that jawbone, I will blast Dean's half-demonic ass to kingdom come before I let him lay one finger on you. Because I've _seen it_, and you _don't deserve it_. D'ya hear me, Sam Winchester? You don't deserve it."

Sam tried to breathe, throat tight and eyes starting to burn. His shuddered breath fell on Gabriel's lips.

"She has to be stopped." He muttered. "She's killing people. Souls - "

Gabriel frowned.

"That's the only damn reason I'm entertainin' the idea: Your annoying habit of caring about other people more than you do yourself." Gabriel's brows rose once, a slight bit of humor mixed in with the seriousness of his words. "Aaand also the only reason I haven't _already_ blasted Dean's half-demonic ass to kingdom come."

Sam's lips twitched in a brief smile, though emotion still clawed at his chest. He didn't understand why Gabriel cared so much. He was thankful, but he didn't get it. Not even after everything they'd been through recently. Having so much positive attention thrust upon him _hurt_, for some reason.

But Gabriel was giving him an out, a way to distance himself from the weight on his shoulders, and he took it.

"Guess bedding an Archangel has its perks?" He tried to joke.

Gabriel hummed good-naturedly as his shoulders relaxed. The smile he gave Sam was full of fondness, maybe pride. Sam found himself sillily drawn in by it.

"You're lucky you're cute." Gabriel said. "And smart. Funny. Slightly devious, when ya set your mind to it. Otherwise…"

"This relationship would never work."

"Like a snowball's chance in Hell."

Sam snorted, a genuine smile on his face, finally.

The mirth between them was short-lived. It was as if, almost immediately, the darkness that awaited them wormed its way back into Sam's core. He saw the same effect in Gabriel. How his eyes dimmed and the tenseness returned to his body.

Sam was worried about Dean. Gabriel was worried about Sam. A barrel of monkeys trying to keep each other from the edge.

Gabriel moved to place a kiss on Sam's forehead, and again came that odd, tingly feeling of both calm and confusion.

He liked the affection that Gabriel gave him, the sometimes weird ways he tried to comfort and reassure him, but it also shocked him. This time because such a soothing gesture came after Gabriel had so easily vowed he'd hurt Dean, try to kill him, if it meant protecting Sam. Cruelty bred of desperation, and compassion bred of love. No one could deny that Gabriel was complicated.

Sam was conflicted. Part of him wanted to tell Gabriel, 'Don't.' Gabriel didn't need to go to such extremes just to make sure he stayed safe, that Gabriel's anger didn't justify hurting his brother. He didn't want Dean hurt because of him. But another part of him basked in the warmth brought by the intent, the reason. He selfishly clung to the idea that Gabriel thought he was someone worth saving, even if he didn't always believe it himself.

"Go to sleep, Sam," Gabriel mumbled, lips brushing against Sam's brow.

How often had Gabriel said those words to him, that gentle command? Was that becoming their thing? A kiss goodnight to chase away the bad thoughts and dreams?

"What about you?" Sam asked.

Gabriel pulled away to sit against the headboard and shrugged.

"Figured I'd stick with creepily watching you sleep. I'm gettin' good at it."

Sam smiled at him, yet he wasn't happy with that answer. His eyes fell to Gabriel's right hand, the hand closest to him. Without a word, he raised his left to wrap gently around Gabriel's wrist. His thumb played with the pulse he found there.

After a moment of silence, Gabriel sighed.

"Or, we could do the cuddlin' thing while I pretend I'm a normal human bein'. Y'know, one who sleeps and all that jazz." Gabriel said as he scooted down the bed.

Sam smirked in triumph.

* * *

They pulled up in front of the Humboldt Hotel near noon. It wasn't as large as the Hilton, certainly not as fancy looking on the outside, but it was still pretty big.

Before Dean had even shut off the Impala, Sam was fretting.

Even with Crowley having given Dean the room number to the penthouse suite - because why _wouldn't_ a Knight of Hell live in style? - there were still plenty of other rooms. Way too many, in fact. Rooms that could hide demons or more hellhounds. The whole situation reminded Sam of an ambush. Only the thought of Gabriel as the ace up their sleeve made Sam consider stepping foot inside the building.

He shifted uneasily in his seat as Dean put the car in park.

"Right," Dean began. "Let's do this. Hey, asshole. Mind givin' me our nuke?"

Dean turned in his seat to stare at Gabriel, who sat in the back as if he hadn't a care in the world.

In fact, all morning Gabriel had been cordial towards Dean. Considering what had happened the day before, Sam hadn't been the only one surprised by the change in his behavior. Dean had even begun to act wary of him with each minute more of casual conversation. Discussing their battle plan was met with very little resistance from Gabriel, though he kept his foot down on handing over the Blade. Shockingly, Dean didn't demand it back time and time again, like Sam had feared he would.

Gabriel returned the stare directed towards him.

"Sure thing, Dean-o." He raised his left hand, opened his palm, and, suddenly, the First Blade rested upon it.

Dean's gaze alternated between Gabriel and the Blade more than once, his body language telling Sam how bothered he was by the whole ordeal.

He wanted the Blade and he didn't. He felt the urge to snatch it from Gabriel but he also feared his arm being bitten off for falling for the bait. When he finally did reach for it, it was with a deliberate slowness. No quick movements around an upset animal.

Gabriel didn't bite Dean's head off. He didn't wrench his arm out of its socket. He didn't even twitch as Dean wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the Blade and carefully brought it towards himself.

Sam, however, couldn't ignore the twisting in his gut as he stared at the Blade. He watched that odd, gobsmacked expression return to Dean's face, the same one that always crossed it whenever Dean held that accursed bone. If Sam hadn't known Abaddon needed to be destroyed, he would've behaved much like Gabriel had the night before in regards to it.

Throw it into the deepest parts of the ocean. Blast it into space. Destroy it on a molecular level. _Burn _it. Sam didn't care what happened to it, or how, just so long as Dean never laid eyes on it again. Never held it.

When Dean pulled his eyes away from the Blade, it was to find Gabriel's mask of indifference and an unintentional glare from Sam that wasn't aimed at him.

Dean cleared his throat and licked his lips.

"_O-_kay. So. Back to the battle plan." He drug his eyes off Gabriel and faced Sam. "I'm thinkin' we should give this place a once-over before we go up. Crowley said he thought he saw demons headed for the basement. Woulda taken care of them himself, but, uh, he wasn't willing to risk Abaddon seeing him."

Sam hesitated. Everything Dean was telling him about Crowley he'd only heard from Dean. Something nagged at the back of his mind that this could be a set-up, that truths were being twisted. Still, he agreed with Dean. His unease had to be put on the backburner.

He nodded his assent.

Dean nodded in turn. He gave Sam an awkward smile, one meant to be full of bravado, though it failed miserably, and exited the car. Sam and Gabriel followed.

The walk up to the doors of the hotel was eerily tense. Sam expected an attack, even with morning traffic behind him. What did Abaddon's demons care of making a scene? They'd once hijacked a bus full of soldiers, after all. He wouldn't put anything past them at this point.

But no attack came. Not even after Sam and Gabriel had followed the signs pointed towards the stairs that led towards the basement.

He'd been so lost in his head, worried about every angle - demons in the basement, demons in the hall, on the stairs, _Abaddon_ \- that he'd failed to notice he was leading the group until Gabriel firmly grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.

Sam turned to face him, confused, worrying that Gabriel was stopping him from walking into a trap he couldn't see or feel like the Archangel could, only then to realize Dean wasn't with them. He took a deep breath, shocked and worried, but Gabriel seemed unphased by Dean's absence.

"There's no demons in the basement, Sam," Gabriel informed him.

Sam frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Dean's playing you."

Sam's expression became blank. Anger burned within him.

Of course. Of course Dean would send him on a wild goose chase. Of course Dean would make it so he was out of harm's way. Of course Dean would walk willingly into death out of some stupid instinct to handle things on his own. Of fucking course.

Sam's jaw clenched and he took a step back the way they'd come. He'd set his brother straight.

However, Gabriel stopped him again, this time with a much firmer grip on his bicep.

Sam snapped his head to glare down at Gabriel. Gabriel's expression told him he wasn't in for a debate, so Sam's command to let go of him died in his throat.

"You can't go up there, Sam."

"Watch me." Sam bit.

"Oh, I will. Later. After I sense Abaddon's strength weakening. Or your brother's growing." His brow rose. "But until then? We wait here. Because the last thing a frenzied animal needs is more blood in the water."

"He's not an animal!" Sam roared.

"That thing on his arm makes him one!" Gabriel shouted back.

Sam flinched back at Gabriel's outburst, his mind flashing back to the Mystery Spot, the time the Trickster warned him about his fate if he continued to sacrifice himself for Dean, and vice versa.

He hadn't been on the receiving end of Gabriel's anger in a long time, and he wasn't truly on the end of it now, but it was still a jarring thing to experience. Thankfully, though, it helped clear his head. With every bone in his body screaming at him to rush up the stairs, find an elevator, anything so long as he got up to the damn penthouse suite before Abaddon could injure Dean, his mind finally kicked in and echoed Gabriel's words. All of them.

With a steadying breath he stated, "You said you'd fix it."

Gabriel relaxed. With Sam not blindly walking into a warzone, he didn't need to be worried as much.

"And I will. But that comes after. Wait, Sam. We'll get there."

Sam nodded and took a step back. His eyes fell to the floor as the weight of Ruby's blade in his hand grew heavy. He had no need of it, if there weren't any demons to kill. Back into his jeans it went.

Seconds ticked by like minutes as they waited for _something_. Awkward silence was the only thing to be heard in the hallway they stood in. Very little foot traffic in the motel. Sam hoped it was simply because no one would dream of going near the stairwell, too dependent on elevators, and not because of something far more sinister.

When Sam finally lost his resolve to _not_ look at Gabriel, he raised his head to see Gabriel had his bowed and tilted slightly, his eyes closed. Sam suspected he was listening to, or sensing, whatever was going on upstairs.

Sam didn't have that ability, and not knowing what was happening was making him more and more anxious. He wouldn't go to Dean, he wouldn't set Gabriel off again by doing so, but he couldn't stand still any longer.

"I'm gonna…" He hesitated when Gabriel looked at him. "Gonna go to the elevators. Be smarter to wait there than…"

Gabriel frowned and remarked, "Point."

He pushed himself from the wall and followed Sam down the hall to the elevators.

They resumed their waiting game. Again, Sam grew restless and started to pace. It'd be ridiculous to ask to walk back to the stairs, ready to climb the many flights to the top floor simply to waste time, after he'd made such a solid case in using the elevators. Yet, his patience was growing thin.

Gabriel's hand reached out beside him to press the up arrow on the wall.

Sam looked from it to Gabriel's solemn expression and then to the numbers lighting up above the elevator doors, displaying the floors it traveled down to reach them. An ominous countdown to something Sam didn't even understand. Not fully.

His desire from earlier, mere moments ago, to rush in and save his brother, was easily replaced by an awful sense of foreboding. He shuddered involuntarily as his body tried to ease the nervousness and fear it'd suddenly been assaulted with. He looked back to Gabriel as the doors opened. The piercing look he received made him clear his throat.

"Cold chill," he dismissed.

Gabriel said nothing. He merely followed Sam into the elevator, selected the top floor, and then watched the doors slide shut.

Sam focused on the feel of the elevator moving under his feet, the sounds of the pleasant dings at each floor it passed. Don't think, he told himself. Don't think, just do. Walk out of the elevator. Follow Gabriel to the penthouse suite, or wherever the hell Dean and Abaddon were. Walk into the room and expect a bloodbath. Just don't panic. Don't panic, he commanded his body as he felt his hands start to tremble.

The doors opened and Sam nearly flew out of the elevator, his sense of danger propelling him forward. He caught himself, however, and let Gabriel take the lead, as he'd told himself before. He couldn't tell if his legs feeling weak came from his nerves or the leftover sensation caused by elevators.

Gabriel turned right. His gait was quick, yet not frantic. Unlike Sam, Gabriel's speed came from a clinical determination to reach his goal. It showed in the way he held his shoulders. His was a commander's walk, and it comforted Sam, in a way. At least one of them was in complete control of themselves.

The further down the hall they walked, the stranger the air felt around him. It wasn't like when Gabriel was upset or the night they'd had sex, though the effect was similar in the way it made his hair stand on end. No, whatever this feeling was, whatever caused it, it was unnerving, malevolent, and Sam's steps faltered for a moment.

He sucked in a breath as the lights on the walls dimmed and then flickered. Only power interfered with electricity like that. Excess energy. Things like ghosts, angels, and magic were often the culprits in their line of work.

Then came the sounds, muffled though they were through wood and plaster. The sound of wind. Things hitting the ground, or the wall. Small objects, they sounded like, but a commotion was definitely happening within a room nearby.

Gabriel didn't knock on the door he came to, Sam on his heels. The door opened on its own, a blast of air hitting the both of them. Sam was forced back a step, his arm raising to protect his face in case something flew at it that was heavier and sharper than air. Gabriel, however, didn't flinch.

Curiosity and worry beat caution, causing Sam to lower his arm. His jaw dropped at what he saw.

Abaddon hovered in the air, her body pulsating with a vicious, red light that eerily lit her bones from within. Her death wasn't unlike the many demons that had fallen to Ruby's blade, in that regard. And her death wasn't what horrified Sam. It was the strength required to lift her that far off the floor. The power that swirled, unseen, around the room.

Abaddon's body dropped to the floor to reveal Dean. Dean, who looked as gone as he had after he'd killed Magnus. Gone, as he looked when held the Blade. Dean was gone...and he was _pissed_. Angry in an animalistic way. Sam understood what Gabriel had kept trying to warn him about.

"Dean!" Sam shouted to him, just as his brother began to move towards Abaddon.

Gabriel's arm rose and Dean flew with a grunt. He collided against the wall behind him, an enraged snarl forcing its way out of his throat. Sam's mouth opened to tell Gabriel to stop, to let Dean go, but the words never came. Not after seeing the heated glare, the downright murderous look, that Dean gave Gabriel.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" A gravelly voice shouted from the couch near where Dean had once stood.

Only then did Sam notice Crowley. The King of Hell looked pathetic, cowered down against the arm of the couch while holding a bloodied shoulder. He'd been shot, it looked like. Sam didn't care, though a small part of him took great satisfaction in seeing Crowley being spooked. And injured.

Dean, teeth bared, struggled against Gabriel's grip. His knuckles were white from how hard they were gripping the Blade. Surprisingly, he managed to lift his shoulders and head from the wall before they thumped back against it.

"Don't make me put you in time out, big guy," Gabriel warned Dean. He tilted his head. "I'm stronger than Abaddon, and I ain't afraid of that Blade."

Dean seethed, and Sam waited with bated breath, before the rage in his eyes finally slipped. A couple of confused blinks later, Dean was looking more like himself. He looked at the Blade in his hand as if he'd been betrayed by it. It fell to the floor with a panicked flick of his wrist.

Gabriel's hand moved, Dean was freed, and then the Blade shot across the room into Gabriel's waiting palm. It was vanished again. Sam sighed deep with relief.

"Good boy," Gabriel commended.

Dean glared at him, absentmindedly rubbing at the Mark, but this glare held none of the fire the first had. Instead, Dean looked ashamed. Scared, even. Sam didn't blame him. He knew what it was like to lose control.

"Okay, will someone please tell me what the _bloody hell_ is going on?!" Crowley snapped at them, drawing their attention. "_Who_ is that!"

He pointed at Gabriel, only to then wince at the pain he caused himself by moving. Sam smirked at his flinch. He then turned to Gabriel. Gabriel didn't seem all that impressed by Crowley.

"Angel," Gabriel replied, bored.

"_Duh,_" Crowley sassed. "What? Do you think I live under a rock? Of course you're an angel!"

"_Arch_angel," Gabriel then clarified, annoyed.

That shut Crowley up. His brows rose nearly to his hairline. Unlike Gabriel, Crowley _was_ impressed by that bit of info. So much so that Sam frowned in suspicion. It was never a good thing to have Crowley interested in or impressed with something. He always started scheming then.

"Huh," Crowley said. "Well, then. Considering the whereabouts of Michael and Lucifer, and the many pieces that Raphael is currently in… I'm going to go out on a limb and say: Gabriel?"

The smile Gabriel gave him was all Trickster.

"Enough with the craptastic introductions," Dean interrupted, winded.

Dean sidled his way around Abaddon's corpse - the body that once belonged to a woman named Josie - and glanced down at it only once, just long enough to make sure he didn't step on it or the blood pooling underneath. He made his way towards Sam and Gabriel and then looked over his shoulder towards Crowley.

"We're getting the hell out of here." Dean shook his head. "No, _I'm_ getting the hell out of here. You comin'? Or you gonna stay behind to clean up the mess?"

"Oh, am I one of the guys again?" Crowley joked.

"_No._" Both Dean and Sam chorused.

Crowley blinked and then rolled his eyes. "Would if I could, boys, but I'm a bit...indisposed at the moment. What with the _devil's trap bullet_ lodged in my shoulder! Mind lending me a hand with that? Hmm? Since I so deliciously wrapped Abaddon up for you in a pretty, red bow?"

Dean nodded slowly, the expression on his face giving away what he thought of Crowley's predicament. He was amused, but that was about it. He certainly didn't seem close to shedding a tear.

Sam reached into jeans for Ruby's knife and made to toss it, underhand, to Crowley. Let him dig the bullet out himself. Oh, sure, it'd hurt like hell, using that knife. But Crowley deserved that pain, all things considered.

Spotting the knife, however, Crowley quickly raised his good hand, motioning Sam to stop.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!" He shouted.

"What?" Sam questioned, innocent.

"Demon?" Crowley pointed out. "Demon-killing knife?"

"And?" Dean joined in.

"And! There's more knives in the kitchen. Go grab one."

Gabriel snapped. A wicked looking hunting knife appeared neatly on Crowley's lap.

Crowley looked warily down at it. He then turned his attention to Gabriel, clearly bothered by him. Gabriel had no reason to aid Crowley, and Sam didn't doubt the random act of charity wasn't considered as such. Not by Crowley. Even Sam had his doubts as to what Gabriel's angle was with such an act.

Crowley grabbed the blade and went about digging the bullet from his shoulder, cringing all the while.

Sam wondered why they were allowing him to live. Why they'd always allowed him to live. In the end, the only conclusion he could draw was the same reason they'd killed Abaddon. Hell _worked_ with Crowley. Sure, it was still Hell. Demons were still demons. But Crowley they could occasionally jerk around. They knew how Crowley worked. New guys? They could be far worse.

"Bloody Archangel gets to join the team and I don't?" Crowley complained under his breath, though purposefully loud enough for them to hear.

"Yeah, well. I'm useful," Gabriel countered.

His statement drew a slow stare from Dean. The look made Sam snicker. Gabriel scoffed and shrugged.

"Okay! In the grand scheme of things?" He pointed to himself. "Archangel." He gestured toward Crowley. "King of Hell. Clearly, I'm the better of these two options on the scales of morality."

"Says the _Trickster_," Dean reminded.

"King of Hell!" Gabriel reiterated. "Hell! Brimstone. Demons. Chains. The _Saw_ puppet's wet dream. _I_ had candy. Girls. ...A very cute Jack Russell Terrier that thought he was as big as a Pit."

"You had a dog?" Sam asked, interested.

Gabriel smiled. "The reason for the animal tester and the alligator."

Ah, right, that guy. Sam hadn't been particularly devastated to learn of his demise, though he perhaps should've been considering the whole 'innocent' guy dying painfully because of a monster thing. Oops. What side of the moral scales was _he _on?

"How very domestic," Crowley grumbled. He grunted as he dug deeper for the bullet. "No hard feelings about the whole Lucifer thing? Dethroning your brother and locking him away?"

Gabriel's eyes slid dangerously over to him. "He's where he belongs."

"Hmm. Family drama."

Finally, Crowley dug his fingers into his wound and pulled out the bullet that had him trapped on the couch. He looked at it with mild interest before he flicked it away. He put the knife on the nearby table and rolled his shoulder, his nose scrunching in discomfort.

"Glad I don't have to put up with that," Crowley smiled at them.

The sound of a door opening nearby had Sam and Dean going for their weapons. Dean, having relied on the First Blade, smacked at his clothes before he realized he didn't have another weapon on him. Sam, however, had Ruby's knife, and it made its reappearance.

The door to the bedroom opened wider and out popped a curious, hesitant young man's head. His curly hair and outdated clothes were the second things Sam noticed.

The man didn't carry himself like a demon. He didn't taunt them by flashing some black eyes. Instead, he gingerly stepped into the room, furrowed his brow at them, gaped at Abaddon's body, and then looked towards Crowley.

"Father?" The young man asked, his accent surprising Sam. "What's all this? Who're they?"

Sam caught the curious address that was given to Crowley, but he was more focused on the accent.

It came from _somewhere_ in the British Isles, his memory told him. Certainly not English. The man's accent sounded closer to Gwyn's, but it wasn't the same. Given Crowley's history… Scottish? And, given the style of clothes the young man wore…

Sam pointed at the newcomer, his mouth open to ask Crowley if the other man was implying what Sam _thought _he was implying, but Dean got his words out first.

"_Father?_"

Crowley's smile faltered, becoming annoyed, as he looked off into the distance, reining in whatever emotion this new - or not? - arrival caused him. He then turned his head to address the man without looking at him.

"_Gavin,_" Crowley chided. "I thought I told you to remain in your room while the grown-ups had their little _chat_."

Gavin looked offended. "That was more than a chat! It sounded like a tempest! What-?" He gestured towards Sam, Dean, and Gabriel. "Who-! Did _they_ do _that?_"

Crowley rolled his eyes as Gavin pointed towards Abaddon's body. He chose to only answer one of Gavin's questions.

"Gavin. Son. Meet Sam and Dean Winchester. Tall one's Sam. Short one's Dean. The even shorter one would be the Archangel Gabriel. Now-"

"Archangel?" Gavin interjected. His eyes widened, however, when he realized. "_Archangel?_ Angel! Gabriel! The one who told Mary she was pregnant with the Lord?"

Gavin inhaled sharply, eyes frantic, as if he didn't know what to do. He then looked to Gabriel, dropped to his knees, and folded his hands in front of him as if to pray. Crowley made a noise of surprise and betrayal at the display, but that didn't deter Gavin.

"Forgive me, Archangel Gabriel," Gavin pleaded, earnest. "I didn't willingly come with the demon woman! I didn't know my father was the King o' Hell! I only agreed to accept him as my father because I _don't _want to burn in the fires of Hell for all eternity, but bein' the _Prince_ of Hell, by birthright -!"

"Gavin!" Crowley snapped.

Gavin looked at him with wide eyes.

"A _title!_" Crowley emphasized, as if that meant something between them.

Gavin raised his hands towards Gabriel. "An _Archangel!_ _He _has stood in the presence of the Lord!"

Sam glanced at Gabriel, only to find him grinning like the cat that got the cream. Figured. Even though Gabriel didn't like _angels_ knowing of his true identity - and that ship had set sail - he didn't seem too bothered by a human groveling at his feet. Or, maybe he was just pleased that his case against Crowley was being proven by Crowley's own son?

"I like this kid," Gabriel purred.

Yeah, it was the latter reason.

"Alright, look," Dean spoke up, "I don't know what's goin' on with _this_-" he waved a hand at Crowley and Gavin, "-but you two're gonna have to stop, because it is goin' right to this asshole's head. And that's the last thing I need. Honestly, that's the last thing _anyone_ needs."

Sam sighed. "What'd you mean about the 'demon lady' bringing you here? I assume you meant from your time to the future?"

"Well, yes," Gavin shrugged. "I was set to travel to the colonies before she showed up. Brought me here. Tortured me! I'm not exactly sorry she's dead, or anything. Oh, does that make me a bad person?"

He looked to Gabriel. Gabriel shook his head no. Gavin relaxed a little.

"'The colonies,'" Dean repeated. He looked to Crowley. "You do realize that means he's going to have to go _back_ to his own time, right?"

"Oh, I'm all for it!" Gavin practically chirped with a smile. "I'm more than willing to make a name for myself, finally. Prove that I'm worth somethin'."

Crowley stood from the couch and closed the short distance between him and his son.

"Yes, about that," Crowley said.

"What?" Gavin bit, glaring down at him. "Ya goin' to tell me I can't get on the ship, now? Is that why ya brought it up earlier? I can tell with ya, y'know? That annoyin' tone that says, 'Oh, I know what's best for ya.' Well, ya don't!"

Crowley stared hard at Gavin. The smile that he gave Sam and the others warned Sam that he was up to something.

"Excuse us, boys. We need to talk."

Sam shouted and took a step towards them, but it was too late. Crowley's hand wrapped around his son's wrist and they both vanished. Dean swore.

"Eh." Gabriel shrugged at their outburst. "It's fine."

"How is it fine?" Sam questioned.

"He's going to Marty McFly the past!" Dean added with a wave of his arm. "...Future. Present?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Are you standing here?"

Both Sam and Dean frowned and looked to one another.

"Yeah…?" Dean asked, unsure where Gabriel was headed with his question.

"You're standing here. Crowley _was_ standing here. We saw Cas yesterday. My brothers are still in the Cage. The world's still spinnin'..."

Sam took a deep breath. "You're saying that, if Gavin's absence in the past affected anything…"

"It would've already happened." Gabriel finished. "You wouldn't even remember the changes."

"Then why was Crowley-?" Dean started.

"My guess?" Gabriel interrupted. "Ship goes down. It's the only reason the entire absence of one person wouldn't matter so much. He dies? He doesn't exist. He goes to the future? He doesn't exist. Nothing _really_ changes."

"A bigger ripple effect would be if we sent him back and he _didn't_ get on the ship. Or he got on another one. Because then he's alive. Can start a family." Sam said.

"Bingo."

Dean shook his head. "Alright. Whatever. Crowley's offspring gets to live another day, and will probably bumble his way through the 21st Century without a clue. This is hurtin' my head. I say we just get the hell out of here while we can."

"What about Abaddon?" Sam asked.

Dean glared at the corpse on the floor. "It's Crowley's penthouse suite. Let him clean it up."

He walked out of the suite without another word on the matter. Gabriel stayed behind, waiting for Sam to take the lead. Sam did. But he chewed over the careless sentence Dean had spoken last. 'It's Crowley's penthouse suite.' Not Abaddon's.

Crowley had been there the whole time. He hadn't _discovered_ where Abaddon was, thus getting captured. Meaning, originally, Dean was supposed to have walked into a trap. And Dean had known it, thus sending Sam into the basement.

Sam was really getting tired of being jerked around.

* * *

Dean sighed for the third time on their way back to the Hilton. Despite whatever horror he'd gone through with Abaddon, the subsequent feelings the Blade had pumped into him, he seemed to be all right. If Sam ignored the light morose attitude he could read in his brother's shoulders and the way he gripped the Impala's steering wheel.

Sam was still pissed Dean had pulled one over on him. Making sure Sam stayed out of harm's way wasn't as bad as lying to him, again, about a dangerous situation. How long had Dean known that Abaddon was there and that she had Crowley? Sam didn't know. He'd never know. Dean wouldn't own up to it, and Sam wasn't going to risk a fight asking.

Furthermore, Sam's annoying conscience had politely informed him of his own hypocrisy. He'd kept the ordeal with the Tulpa a secret until later. What Dean had done with Abaddon wasn't that different. That didn't stop him from being aggravated at being on the other side of the fence, however.

Gabriel was right. His conscience was right. The whole keeping secrets thing, no matter how much they wanted to protect each other, was getting old. Quick. Sam just didn't know where to start _not_ keeping certain things under wraps. They'd traveled so far down the slippery slope of the rabbit hole that Sam was unsure how much he could tell Dean, about anything, and not immediately get yelled at. That wasn't a reaction he liked nor looked for.

"You okay?" He asked Dean.

The question startled Dean. He jerked minutely at the sudden voice that offset the steady rumble of the engine. Realizing he'd jumped, Dean shook his head, like a cat that checks to see if anyone saw them not fall on their feet.

"Yeah, I'm good." Dean mumbled, revealing he was anything but. "Just ready to be done with all this. You _can_ remove this Mark off my arm, right?" He looked into the rearview mirror at Gabriel. "Or change it. Whatever the hell you said."

"Optimistically? Yeah, I'm golden. You might not be, after I shove my hand into your soul and play around for however long it takes. But, hey! It's the thought that counts, right?"

"Wow. Don't sugarcoat it, or anything."

"Why? Just 'cause I'm required to have a sweet tooth for a certain persona?"

"No. Because this is _my soul_ we're talkin' about."

Before Dean could continue to tell Gabriel how insensitive he was being, Dean's phone rang. He dug in his pocket for it, pulled it out, and looked at the screen. Cas was calling. Dean accepted the call, immediately placing the phone on speaker.

"What's up, Cas?"

"The sky," Castiel deadpanned.

Gabriel laughed. Sam and Dean looked at him. He stopped.

"What! It was a joke!" Gabriel explained. "You guys just don't get angel humor."

"Uh-huh." Dean replied. "I meant what's up on the angel front, Cas. Your outing go all right?"

"Hardly."

Sam frowned. "What happened?"

"It'd be safer to discuss that in person. Soon. I fear our..._mole_ is more active than I thought."

Dean shifted in his seat, eyes searching for road signs to tell him where he was. Sam didn't remind him that just because he knew what road they were on didn't mean he'd know what road to take to get back to Cas' hideout. For that, they'd need Google. Sam brought out his own phone.

"Yeah, okay," Dean told Cas. "We'll be there...at some point. I don't know where the hell we are right now. Still in the city, so it shouldn't take too long. We… We got Abaddon. Won't have to worry about her again."

Castiel paused before asking, "Are you all right?"

"Well," Dean drawled, "I'm inclined to punch the next person to ask me that."

Gabriel leaned forward in his seat, placing his head in-between Sam and Dean.

"You okay, bro?" He whispered to Dean.

Dean tried to swing at Gabriel, earning a childish squeal from the Archangel as he jerked back into his seat. However, due to a phone in one hand and the responsibility of driving with the other, the punch he'd promised didn't really happen. The Impala swerved minutely as Dean put his hand back on the wheel and grouched.

"Look, Cas, me and Sam are on our way. Gabriel will be dead before we get there."

"Gabriel, don't be an ass," Castiel admonished.

"I'm always an ass, _Cas_."

"Yes. Well. Stop all...that."

"You just gestured to all of me."

Sam frowned and looked up from his phone. "Was that a _How to Train Your Dragon_ quote?"

"You _watched _that?" Dean asked, and Sam wasn't sure if the question was meant for him, Gabriel, or Castiel.

"Me and Toothless have a lot in common," Gabriel replied.

Sam snorted. He wasn't entirely sure what Gabriel had meant, but the first thing that popped into his head probably wasn't it. He bit his lips to keep from smiling.

"Just expect us to be there within half an hour or less," Dean instructed Cas.

"All right."

Castiel hung up. Dean frowned at the flashing screen on his phone, indicating the dropped call, and put it back in his pocket.

"Not much for good-byes, is he?" Dean mumbled.

"He's never really had much of a knack for social graces," Sam dismissed. "Turn right two lights down."

"Don't take it personal, Dean," Gabriel cooed. "He's too busy playin' commander-in-chief right now. He'll be right up your ass when all's said and done."

"He's _not_ up my ass," Dean gritted through his teeth.

"He's up your ass," Sam joined in.

"No, okay!" Dean held up his finger. "You don't get to team up with this asshole against me. I don't care who's bangin' whom!"

Sam grinned.

When they arrived at Cas' hideout, Benjamin, again, was the one to open the door. And, again, he did so before they even had the chance to knock. The glower he gave them was intense and unwarranted. Sam didn't know what the hell had crawled up the angel's ass, but he really wished it'd crawl back out. The perpetual air of _grouch_ that hung around the maroon-clad angel was grating.

After a clipped greeting and a glare of distrust aimed at Gabriel, Benjamin lead them through the main lobby. He didn't lead them to the upstairs office-Castiel's office-like Sam thought he would. Instead, he twisted his way through the crowd to the stairs that lead to the underground level. He instructed them to return to Ezra's old cell and then left.

Sam and Dean watched him leave, confused. They shared a look, silently agreeing that being left alone by the angel, who had previously been hellbent to know their every move, was strange.

When Sam looked at Gabriel, however, he didn't see confusion. No, Gabriel was bristling again, staring off into the main lobby with pinched lips. The oddly merry attitude they'd had before in the car probably wasn't going to rear its head again. Not so long as they stayed cooped up around angels.

Sam sighed.

He followed Dean down the stairs and down the hall, Gabriel behind him. Through the small window in the cell, Sam had just enough time to spot Cas within before Dean opened the door and they stepped inside.

Castiel looked up at them as he leaned against a table that had been added to the room. More sigils had been added to the walls. His pose now reminded Sam of how Castiel used to hold himself, back when they'd first met him, when he'd considered himself a soldier of God and would give them orders they rarely obeyed.

Something had happened. Castiel was still in 'commander' mode. He didn't give out hugs this time, no smiles. His mind was purely focused on business, and he didn't speak until the door was closed.

"I spoke with Gadreel," he announced.

His glance at Dean reminded Sam that, last Castiel knew, Dean hadn't known _why_ Castiel had left the base. Sure, Dean had told him to be careful, but that text hadn't mentioned him knowing of Castiel's plan to talk with Metatron's righthand man.

Dean shuffled, awkward, before he mumbled, "Yeah, I know."

"I went to ask for his aid."

"Oh, I," Dean scoffed. "_I know_. Got the whole run down from Sam and Gabe. Thought it was a stupid ass decision but, considering you're here in one piece, guess everything went peachy."

Castiel shifted his weight and looked away from Dean. Everything _hadn't_ gone peachy, then. Dean frowned, as did Sam, though Dean's was a little less concerned and a lot more annoyed than Sam's.

"I took Sam's advice," Castiel explained. He brought his eyes back up to meet theirs. "I brought Benjamin and Mebabel with me. For protection. Gadreel came alone. We talked."

"About what?" Dean demanded.

"His misguided faith," Castiel replied evenly. "He vehemently denies a knowing involvement with what went down in the Garden, and I don't doubt he was misled in that situation. Especially now, considering what I've seen of his personality."

"And what personality is that? Murderous fuckhead?" Dean bit.

Castiel stared hard at Dean. The look surprised him, confused him, and he finally shut his mouth. Cas took a deep breath and continued, knowing there'd be no further interruptions on behalf of Dean.

"I told him he was being mislead again. Related my relationship with Metatron. ...The one that led to my undoing, as well as Heaven's. Told him he needed to change loyalties, back to Heaven and its mission. That rule under Metatron would be worse than Gadreel's original imprisonment."

"Did he bite?" Gabriel questioned.

"We were ambushed."

"You were _what?"_ Dean asked.

"Gadreel spotted the assassins before I did. He warned us."

"I thought we told you to be careful! I distinctly remember hitting 'Send' on that text, Cas!" Dean shouted.

Cas ignored him. "Mebabel didn't make it. Benjamin and I were able to vanquish the others. Gadreel had fled."

"Oh, well, that's great. So much for heart-to-hearts with the enemy. Because _that_ works."

"We met again this morning."

"You-"

With a swiping motion of his fingers, Gabriel silenced Dean. It took a second for Sam to realize that was what he'd done, having first spotted the motion and not the aftermath. Yet, when he turned his head to face Dean, saw his brother trying to talk, and then saw the heated glare Dean directed towards Gabriel, Sam connected the dots.

"And then?" Gabriel prompted Cas, cheeky.

"Gadreel swore to me that he had nothing to do with the ambush. That he believes honor must exist, even in times of war. And I believe him. He wouldn't have met with me, twice in a row, without aid, if he didn't naively think that angels still held true to such ideologies when it comes to battle. We've learned from humanity, after all. Gadreel hasn't had that chance."

"So… Is he going to help?" Sam asked, careful not to get silenced like his brother.

"He's hesitant. He sees such aid as a betrayal against Metatron. However, if there's a spy within my camp, it only makes it fair to have a spy of my own within Metatron's. I told Gadreel that and to consider my offer. I think he might. How far he'll go when it comes to aiding our cause, I'm not sure, but all I asked for was Metatron's plans. Where he's going to attack and when. Nothing so severe that Gadreel might see it as an attack."

Gabriel hummed in thought. He glanced over at Dean. Noticing the amount of anger directed towards him that Dean was barely able to conceal, Gabriel swished his fingers again and freed Dean from his torment.

"You sonuvabitch," Dean seethed, finger dangerously pointed at the Archangel.

"Ya want me to reseal those lips? Because I can, and I will. In a heartbeat." Gabriel warned. "Every once in a while, you gotta learn that your opinion in the matter _doesn't_ matter, Dean."

Dean huffed, jaw clenched, but he wisely decided not to snark back at Gabriel.

"So, that's the plan?" Sam asked. "We just...wait? Until Gadreel _possibly_ gives us information?"

Castiel's confidence waned a little. He shrugged a shoulder and shook his head.

"For now? Yes. It's all we _can_ do. In regards to Gadreel, in any case. However…" Now, he appeared sheepish. "I'd hoped, if you weren't particularly busy, you could help us track down Metatron? Or, at least give us some pointers on how to find someone who doesn't want to be found. We've created a good system, but it's not the best, and you two have far more experience than we do when it comes to hacking into databases that are normally off limits."

"Meanwhile," Gabriel muttered under his breath, "I just have experience bein' the person who doesn't wanna be found."

"There anything in particular you had in mind, Cas?" Dean questioned, pointedly ignoring Gabriel. "Like a specific database, or somethin'? I'm not as good as Sam when it comes to hacking, but I can take a crack at it. Or, hell, surveillance cameras! I'm good at watchin' TV."

Dean's joke about his own ineptitude brought a small smile to Castiel's face, and Sam recognized his brother's way of making up for an unintentional disrespect by humorously putting himself down. Not the best way to say he was sorry, but it was better than nothing.

Gabriel took a sudden, deep breath, his hand reaching out to grasp Sam's jacket tightly.

Sam looked down at him, worried, and he only grew more so when he saw the distant look in Gabriel's near-frantic eyes. Gabriel wasn't in the room, he was sensing something somewhere else. What, Sam hadn't a clue, but he figured it couldn't be anything good.

"What? What is it?" He asked, concern clear in his voice.

After his question, Dean and Castiel also looked to Gabriel. Gabriel's eyes focused, somewhat, and he looked up at Cas.

"When did you have your little chat with Gadreel?" Gabriel questioned.

Castiel frowned. "Early this morning. Just after sunrise. Why? What's wrong?"

Gabriel released Sam's jacket, spun around, and sprinted out the door before any of them knew what was going on. Sam jumped first, his long legs allowing him to catch up with Gabriel in a matter of seconds. Dean and Castiel's footsteps bounced off the walls behind him.

Once they reached the main lobby, Gabriel shouted, "Move!"

The angels parted in an instance, desperate to get out of his way. Apart from a few murmurs here and there, angels asking each other what was going on with the Archangel in their presence, the room went silent.

Gabriel didn't seem to care that he'd caused such a commotion or that all eyes were on him. He went straight to the entrance. Miraculously, Benjamin wasn't there. His absence was a good thing, too. Gabriel's goal was the door, and he would've steamrolled anyone who was in his way to get there. When he pulled the door open, Sam nearly skid to a halt.

Gadreel.

The next breath Sam took didn't want to come, so shocked as he was to see the angel he despised tower over Gabriel.

Dean bumped into his shoulder as he tried to make his way around Sam, no doubt aiming for Gadreel, but he was hastily jerked back by Cas. Dean swore at him, but he made no further attempt to go after the enemy at their door. Even so, Castiel didn't release Dean's shoulder.

Gabriel stared up at Gadreel. Gadreel stared down at Gabriel. Then, Gadreel's right arm rose, followed by his left to help support what he held. It was only thanks to the object's length that Sam could make out what was in Gadreel's hands, what he was offering Gabriel. Gabriel's body blocked the rest from view.

"I believe this belongs to you," Gadreel's smooth voice said, breaking the heavy silence.

Finally, Gabriel's head tilted down to face the object. His hands closed into fists at his sides, and he stood there for a moment, before he finally took the metal-adorned horn from Gadreel.

Gabriel's Horn.

Gadreel looked up from Gabriel and into the room. His eyes found Castiel's and they didn't waver.

"I have considered your offer," Gadreel spoke, loud, allowing his voice to carry. "And I agree. As much as it pains me to admit, Metatron _has_ proven himself to be...suspicious, to say the least. I will aid you, if you will let me."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my attention span, which finally swung back around to this fic, after four months. …'Bout damn time, I'd say. If you notice a shift in my writing style, it's because I recently read a _Supernatural_ novel - yes, the licensed fan fiction commissioned by the SPN peeps - and I learned a few tricks from those worthy enough to earn a living doing what I'm doing. Props to them. Y'all should read some of those books sometime. Page turners, they are.

Song worth mention: "Bad Blood" by Taylor Swift ft. Kendrick Lamar. The version that's in the music video. Not the slower, more boring one.

* * *

The silence that had spread across the room at Gabriel's command continued as everyone stared at the enemy at their door. The angels at his back, his brother, even Gabriel, all disappeared from Sam's mind as he stared, dumbfounded, at Gadreel.

_Gadreel. _His mind repeated. The asshole responsible for Kevin. The asshole responsible for the blood on his hands. They were the same thoughts, the same guilt, that had plagued Sam for months, but there they were again. There _he_ was again. And Sam didn't know what to think, what to feel.

He was surprised that rage wasn't what came to him as he picked apart the lines and shape of Gadreel's borrowed face. Rage was before, when the wounds of betrayal were still fresh in his mind, when someone he cared for was in danger yet again because of Metatron's right-hand. Rage was what allowed him to face his old fears and anxieties. He'd used it to stand up to Gadreel more than once. So, where was that feeling now?

Gone. Even the fear was gone, replaced with an odd, unwanted sense of acceptance. They needed to work with Gadreel, to use him to get to their bigger prize, and he seemed happy to play the part. At least, that's how it appeared to be. He'd brought Gabriel his Horn back, after all. Extended his olive branch at the door, and it was a big one. Gabriel had accepted it. The room seemed to wait with baited breath for Castiel to hand down his own judgment, though Sam already knew what Cas' answer would be.

Still, Sam hated. He hated Gadreel. He hated how easily he was going to allow the angel to step closer to him, to step into the safe space that Castiel had carved for himself and his angels. Sam, as he'd nearly always done in the past, was willingly going to work with someone despicable. Just to ensure the safety of the world.

He'd stopped wondering if that was the right thing to do or not. He hadn't stopped cursing himself for not being as stubborn as his brother when it came to things like this. It'd be so much easier on him to dig his heels in, as he had with Dean. To set boundaries. _No, I won't do this, _he could say. Except that he couldn't. Not really. Not if he wanted to live with himself after all was said and done. _Bite the bullet. Take one for the team. Gabriel's done it._

The Horn in Gabriel's hands vanished with a flash of light, going who-knew-where. Gadreel looked down at him, simple curiosity reflected in his eyes, before he looked back to Castiel, still awaiting the other's answer.

"You can't be serious," Benjamin's voice sounded.

Sam turned to see him standing beside Castiel, leaning towards his commander in an almost comical, conspiratorial way. Regardless of how silly he looked, his expression was stony. It was clear what _his_ thoughts on the matters were. Castiel didn't seem as bothered as his second.

"We need him," Castiel replied, matter-of-fact.

Benjamin's eyes widened. "_No, _Castiel. He's the enemy. He's killed hundreds-!"

"It's war." Castiel monotoned.

"He ambushed-!"

"He was deceived." Castiel growled. He cut his eyes to give Benjamin a scathing look. "Metatron used him to get to us."

"How do you know he's not doing that now?" Dean piped in with a frown. Benjamin looked surprised to see Dean agreeing with him. Dean trudged on. "You told him to stay within Metatron's forces, right? To watch him like you're being watched? Why's he here, then? Guy's shit at following _your_ orders. He's followed Metatron's to a T, so far. Seems suspicious to me."

Gadreel squared his shoulders against Dean's accusations. "I am not here to work as a spy, Dean Winchester. I came with the intent of peace and to offer my aid, as was requested by Castiel. You have my word."

"Your word means jackshit to me, dirtbag," Dean bit. "You killed Kevin!"

Gadreel took a deep breath, calming himself. The laser focus he had on Dean was worrisome. "And I am sorry." He paused, chewing on his next words as if they were hard for him to say. "I...made mistakes."

"Oh, is that all?" Dean demanded. He took a step towards Gadreel, but it was Sam who stopped him this time.

"Enough." Gabriel's voice was dangerous, a warning. He turned and all but glared at Dean. "Time and place for everything. Now, _here_, 's not it." He raised his head to address the angels crowding closer to them. "And you winged assmonkeys get back to work!"

Displeased murmurs spread through their audience, and Sam wasn't entirely sure he didn't hear an angel confusedly complain about not being a monkey, but they dispersed. Ever so slowly the angels shuffled away from them, many not bothering to mask their stares at Gadreel.

They didn't trust him. They may have obeyed the command of an Archangel, but they didn't agree with Gabriel. They probably wouldn't agree with Castiel, either. Sam hoped the discourse wouldn't cause problems for them later. An angry army wasn't something he wanted to be up against.

"Come," Gabriel spoke quietly to Gadreel. "We need to talk." He looked to Sam, Dean, and then Cas. "All of us. Without the eavesdropping, trigger-happy God Squad."

Castiel nodded his understanding. Wordlessly he turned, Benjamin on his heels, and began to retrace their steps through the building. Sam, Dean, and Gabriel, however, waited on Gadreel to move. It took him a second to get their wordless command, but he complied without incident. The door to Cas' hideout closed silently behind him, seemingly of its own accord, and the three followed after him.

As they walked, Sam's focus stayed on Gadreel. Once again, Gadreel was diligently doing what he was told. Nothing in the way he held himself projected the idea that he doubted their intentions. With his back to Gabriel, Dean, and Sam, all men he'd hurt one way or another, Gadreel foolishly trusted them not to kill him before they got him back to Ezra's old cell.

_It's not foolish_, Sam realized, annoyed. Gadreel had met Castiel twice now. Four times, if Sam stretched back his hazy memory to when he was possessed. Gadreel had healed Cas for no other reason than he needed to be healed. _Or, maybe, because he knew what he meant to us._ Gadreel had had access to all of Sam's memories and thoughts. Surely, he _knew _Cas. All the times he'd tricked the Winchesters, and all the times he'd made up and suffered for it.

Despite his flaws, they trusted Cas. Because they trusted Cas, they wouldn't act against Gadreel without his say-so. Gadreel felt _safe_, and the idea burned in Sam. Sam didn't have that luxury.

However, Gadreel wasn't known for being perceptive. He trusted Cas. He might even trust Sam, knowing the type of person he was. Sam _wouldn't_ act against Cas' wishes in such a high-stakes situation as this and jeopardize losing a powerful ally, even if they were a turncoat. But Dean? Dean had the Mark. Dean had unbridled rage coursing through his veins, his soul, just because. It clouded his judgment. He'd already nearly killed Gadreel once before. Leaving him alone with the angel was a bad idea, and Sam didn't think Gadreel considered the possibility that that would happen again, that Dean might be appointed his guard dog.

Then, there was Gabriel. Gabriel was and had always been their wild card. Though Sam trusted him, he was unpredictable. He kept his desires mostly to himself behind a carefully constructed mask that he only lowered when around people _he_ trusted. Though only minutes had passed since Gabriel had opened the door for Gadreel, Sam had yet to see through Gabriel's carefully blank face. Even knowing him as Sam did didn't help. _He'd probably beat Dean at poker any day._

Gadreel had brought Gabriel his Horn, that was true. They'd known each other in the past. The guardian of Eden and the Governor of it. Yet, Sam remembered the ill way Gadreel had spoken of aforementioned past. Bad blood existed between them, and Gabriel could hold grudges. So could Gadreel. _Why does Gadreel trust him, then? Because he brought the Horn back?_

It was only when they reached the carefully warded room that Gadreel hesitated. He didn't pay attention to Cas as Cas politely, sternly told Benjamin to wait outside. He didn't seem to notice the shift in the air caused by Benjamin's smothered anger. He faced the room dead ahead of him with stiff shoulders, his hands clenched into too-tight fists beside his thighs. He was afraid, his leather jacket doing its best to hide his shallow breathing. But Sam saw. If he hadn't known that panicked animals bite, he might've tried to rub salt in Gadreel's wounds.

"Relax," Gabriel instructed Gadreel, his calm and steady voice alerting the others to Gadreel's predicament. "It's not a torture dungeon, just an interrogation room." At Gadreel's step backward, Gabriel clarified, "A _human _interrogation room."

Gadreel lowered his chin to growl over his shoulder at Gabriel. "I have already been put through the good cop, bad cop routine." Sam shifted uncomfortably at the mention. "I have no desire to experience it again."

"Tough shit. Get in the room," Dean ordered.

"Or what?" Gadreel asked.

Sam inhaled sharply at Gadreel's tone. He knew the false pleasantness of it was a rattlesnake's warning. That's how Gadreel reacted to threats. Smiles. Fake calm. When he appeared in control of himself, he usually wasn't. Dean didn't want to tread on him. Not in the tight corridor they were in. If Gadreel lashed out to protect himself, someone wasn't walking away alive. _Unless Gabriel's faster._

"All right!" Gabriel exclaimed. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing around them. "I'm done. Gadreel, in the room. Cas, in the room. Sam, in the room. Dean, you're waiting with Barney over in the corner like a good little boy."

Dean glared heatedly at Gabriel, mouth open to argue, but Gabriel merely raised his brows and pointed forcefully with his arm over to a corner at the end of the hall some fifteen feet away.

Dean was pissed. It showed in his eyes, his jaw, his shoulders. Still, he fought against his instinct to punch Gabriel in the face. Sam didn't know what his brother said to himself to talk himself down, but whatever it was, it worked. Dean calmed down. He didn't step away, though.

"Gabriel," Dean said, voice shaky.

"Do not make me move you, Dean Winchester," Gabriel replied. "You're still learning how to heel, and we ain't got time for that. So, in the kiddy-corner you go. Maybe, when you grow up, we can let you chat with the big boys again." Gabriel's eyes cut to Benjamin. "Same with you, Barney."

"It's Benjamin," the angel sassed, as immobile as Dean.

"Fuck you." Dean's reply wasn't as hostile as Sam had expected it to be.

Gabriel sneered at him. "Get in line."

Another tense second passed before Dean turned and stormed away from the door. He didn't go to the corner, but he did step far enough away so that he couldn't sneak into the room last minute before one of the many angels in their presence could slam it shut. Benjamin sent one last furious look at Gadreel and Gabriel and then joined him. It didn't look like they'd be bonding during their banishment.

Gadreel followed Castiel reluctantly into the makeshift cell, Gabriel and Sam behind him. Just before entering the room, Sam gave his brother one final look.

Dean was worried. At Sam's unspoken attempt at reassurance, he pouted. He wouldn't call it a pout, he'd threaten anyone who claimed it to be such, but that's exactly what it was. Surprisingly, the unfortunate expression helped to ease Sam's mind a little.

Once inside, Gadreel surveyed his surroundings. His steps were slow, measured. His eyes hung on every sigil for more than a second, most likely trying to place what each one meant, what it was warding against, how much danger he was in. It was strange to see someone like him trying to be observant. Maybe it was only people's intentions he was bad at discerning.

Castiel walked around the desk in the middle of the room. "Gadreel."

"Castiel," he mimicked. His soft voice set Sam's nerves on edge. Gadreel didn't flinch when the door closed behind him, Sam and Gabriel on either side of it like posted guards.

Castiel stood straighter as he came to stand on the other side of the desk, directly across from Gadreel. The intense look he directed at Gadreel made Sam think he was trying to appear as the commander he was. Yet, with the too-big trench coat covering his frame and Gadreel's staggering height the effect didn't come across nearly as well as Cas might've liked. Much like Dean's angry pout. Again, something about the scene calmed Sam.

"Not that I don't appreciate that you've taken me up on my offer to aid us, or that you've given Gabriel back his Horn…" Castiel hesitated. Gadreel nodded politely, waiting for him to continue. "But, why _exactly_ are you here?"

Gadreel's head tilted at Cas' inquiry. "Did I not make myself clear at the door?" Gadreel sounded sincerely confused. "I came to help."

"But _why?"_ Gabriel clarified. "You said Metatron was acting suspicious. _We_ know the guy's as slippery as an eel, but what clued _you _in?"

Gadreel turned, brow furrowed. _Probably doesn't understand the expression, _Sam thought. When Gadreel's eyes slid over to Sam's, Sam stiffened. But Gadreel didn't address him. Instead, he directed his reply to Gabriel.

"Other than him having me followed so as to ambush Castiel?" Gadreel's question was rhetorical. "When I was captured by the Winchesters and...interrogated...it was during a script of his."

"Script," Sam mumbled, the phrasing reminding him of something Gabriel had said when they'd rescued him months ago. "Like. Like he was writing something for us to play out?"

"Yes. And no. He said he wanted to put on a little show for Castiel. Using Gabriel." Gadreel paused when he saw Gabriel and Sam shift their weight. "In hindsight, I believe he was trying to manipulate Castiel, to get him to do whatever it was Metatron wanted him to do. However, my getting captured forced him to change his script. Or, so he claimed, when I asked him if my getting captured was part of his plan."

"Was it?" Castiel prompted.

Gadreel looked over his shoulder at Cas. "He told me that, sometimes, his characters surprise him. My torture at your brother's hands was something he had not foreseen, had not written." Gadreel's eyes bored into Sam's. "At the time, I believed him. Because if I did not then that meant I had, once again, made a mistake. Put my trust in the wrong person."

"You did," Sam mumbled. _Why is he looking at me like that?_

"Yes." He finally looked away. He turned to better face Castiel. "After the ambush, my meeting with you a second time, I began to think of other instances where Metatron seemed...odd. Dishonest or not wholly truthful. Cruel, even." Gadreel opened his mouth to say something, but whatever the statement was stuck in his throat. He gasped against some emotion. His brow furrowed again, lips pinched against what Sam soon recognized as guilt and pain. Remorse.

"What did you do, Gadreel?" Gabriel asked. He sounded like a parent trying to get their kid to admit wrongdoing without instilling fear of retribution. "What did he make you do?"

Gadreel shuddered. His fists clenched at his sides again. He wouldn't look up from the floor.

"I-" Gadreel fought through the shame. "He gave me a name. Of someone he said was a threat. As he did with young Kevin."

At the mention of his friend, the rage Sam had thought was gone suddenly came back. Charred eyes were just as seared into his memory as they were Kevin's skull. His hands had done that. Gadreel had made them. And for a lie. Because Gadreel trusted too easily. Because he believed what he wanted to believe, what he _needed_ to believe.

"The name he gave me was of a human." Gadreel continued. He was looking at Sam again. "Alexander Sarver." A broken smile formed on his lips. "The angel possessing him was named Abner."

"Abner?" Gabriel questioned. His faraway tone distracted Sam. When Sam looked at him, he could tell Gabriel was remembering something. "Wasn't he a cherub, like you?"

"Yes. He spent seven hundred years beside me in Heaven's prison. We were friends." That hollow smile twitched.

"When we found you," Castiel said. "After you ran away in Sam. ...You'd killed an angel. Your _friend_."

Castiel's voice was accusatory, eyes hard. His anger didn't last long, though. Only a few seconds. Then, realization softened his features. The shift surprised Sam, until he remembered Castiel's own history with his friends. How many had _he _killed, either by accident or out of necessity. It didn't make what Gadreel had done right, but Sam knew that Cas being able to relate to that horror would influence him. _Hell, it'll influence all of us._

"So," Gabriel began. "Metatron makes you an offer you can't refuse. Has you kill the prophet because he's the only kid on the face of the planet that can undo what he's done. Has you kill your bestie because he's a sadistic, sorry sonuvabitch who needs to know he has you completely under his thumb. Makes you murder the decent angels while recruiting the not-so-decent ones. Has you torture me with that bullshit 'Horn of Gabriel' spell of his-"

Gadreel frowned. "I did not know you were alive, Gabriel."

"Yeah, that's kinda my point, Einstein. You don't know a lot of things. About yourself, your story, Metatron's involvement in it. Nothin'. And I'm honestly startin' to wonder about how you found your way here."

"How _did _you find us?" Castiel asked, cautious. "You didn't find the spy, did you? Gadreel, if you-"

"I did not, and I was not followed," Gadreel stressed with conviction. "I made sure to ward my vehicle. Traveled-"

"But how did you find us?" Castiel insisted, worried.

"I used the Horn," Gadreel explained, as if the answer was obvious. "It belongs with Gabriel, resonates with his grace. It led me to him. I knew he was with you."

"Who had the Horn, though?" Gabriel asked.

"Metatron."

"I thought you said you'd taken it?" Sam interrupted.

Gadreel shook his head. "When I sent that message, I meant that I had upheld my end of the bargain. Metatron would not hand the Horn over to me, but he did allow me to stop using the spell. I thought that would be enough."

"So," Gabriel went on, "this whole time he's kept it close, wouldn't let you use it, yet, _somehow_, you snatched it right out from under his nose."

Gadreel floundered. It was obvious he wanted to deny Gabriel, but Sam could also see the doubt and panic spreading through him. "I didn't-. I don't-."

_So he _can_ use contractions, _Sam mused. The intrusive thought wasn't wanted, but at least it helped center his other thoughts before he became a nervous wreck like Gadreel.

Metatron had originally stolen the Horn from the trunk of Castiel's car, meaning he'd known where it was. _The Angel Tablet might make him as omniscient as God. Who knows? _He might know that Gadreel had taken it. Might have even let him. After all, it wasn't like the sigil that sapped Gabriel's strength to summon angels had been used recently. Gadreel had promised Sam to stop using it. Miraculously, he'd kept his end of the bargain. _Then again, he did give me his word._ What use was the Horn to Metatron _other_ than as a nice tracking device to Gabriel?

Yet…

"I don't get it," Sam spoke up, finally voicing his thoughts. "Say he knows Gadreel defected, was going to defect, and thus let him take the Horn. Why? He has an angel already stationed here. Somewhere. He's known where Cas' hideout is for a while now. Gadreel had to use the Horn-" Sam trailed off. Gabriel's knowing stare made him continue. "He let Gadreel use the Horn to find you. He wants Gadreel here. With us."

Gadreel shook his head, stunned. "But why? I vowed my allegiance to him. Why would he permit me to betray him? Why would he _want _me to?"

"Uh, because he doesn't like you," Gabriel replied evenly. "Aaand you know too much."

"About what?" Castiel wondered. "Metatron's plans? That'd be more of a reason to make sure Gadreel _didn't_ change sides."

"No, no, no," Gabriel shook his head and waved his hands. "Y'all are going about this the wrong way. Think less like a good guy and more like a sleazeball with a scarily high IQ." He rolled his eyes. "Also go back to the beginning. Or should I say The Beginning. Good ol' Genesis. Remember what happened there?"

"God said, 'Let there be light?'" Sam shrugged. He was trying to follow Gabriel but he didn't have all the information Gabriel did regarding pre-history and Creation. _Gadreel _still _doesn't look like he knows where Gabriel's going with this, either._

"Too far back. Little bit forward." When no one said a word, Gabriel wiggled with frustration. "Oh, come on! Do I have to lead you through everything?"

"Yes," Castiel deadpanned. "Please, Gabriel. We don't have time for theatrics."

"_Fine._ I'll say it slowly so you can keep up." He motioned to Gadreel with a hand. "Guardian of Eden. Given one of the most important jobs in all o' the Universe at the time: Don't let anything fuck up Humanity. _Paradise._ And along came a snake. Flashed his pretty li'l eyes at tall, dark, and brooding over here." Gabriel switched to a falsetto voice. "'Oh, please, Brother. I only want to take a look. Isn't it a shame how cooped up they are? How they'll never be free of the Garden? What kind of life is that to lead? What about-'" he dropped the voice, "'-_Free Will_.'"

At the start of Gabriel's speech, Gadreel's eyes had found the floor. Now, his jaw muscles pulsed with his effort to keep from saying anything. His lips quivered. He wasn't just angry, Sam noted. He was ashamed, too. The two emotions that never seemed to abandon Gadreel. At least, not for long.

"I was deceived." Gadreel said. "I only wanted them… He said he was not going to do anything to them."

"Oh, and he didn't." Gabriel's smile was the Trickster's, bitter and judgmental. "He made them do it to themselves. That's how he works. And you fell for it."

Gadreel's eyes were on fire when he looked up at Gabriel. "If you knew how he worked, then why did you not stop him? You! The Governor of Eden! Was it not _your _job, as well, to ensure that the Garden did not fall victim to any threats? Or is the great _Archangel _Gabriel above the law, just as his brother is?"

"Oh, I'm not above the law," Gabriel replied, serious. All traces of the Trickster were gone from him. Now, he was the age-old being he often pretended not to be. "There's a reason I had to make a new face for myself when I came down here. No one - _no one _\- deserts Heaven and gets away with it. At least, not back in my day. Cassie opened up a few doors, the ol' rebel."

Castiel shifted at the attention. The sour expression on his face probably had something to do with what he'd had to go through to open said doors.

Gabriel continued. "No, Gadreel. You were punished so harshly, instead of Lucifer, because there was a certain scribe whose name rhymes with Megatron who whispered into Daddy's ear and convinced him Lucifer's status in the Hierarchy was much more important than the fact that you hadn't really done anything wrong."

Silence hung in the room, palpable and weighty. Sam watched Gadreel's eyes gradually become blank, his rage draining as realization came.

Metatron had used Gadreel. Sam could faintly remember Metatron's voice during the secret meetings between the two of them. Sweet words and temptations to get Gadreel to do what he wanted. _He promised to restore you, when he was the one who ruined you in the first place. And he ruined you again._

"Damn," Sam muttered with a shake of his head.

He looked away from Gadreel as his mind not so nicely tried its best to make him relate. It had some compelling arguments. Ruby. Ignoring everyone's words of warning. Because he wanted to be strong. He liked the feeling. Just as much as he liked saving people from her knife in his hands. He killed a screaming, crying nurse because Ruby swore up and down that it needed to be done. He _had_ to kill Lilith.

He'd believed her. In some twisted, unhealthy way, he'd loved her.

She'd lied. The whole time. And he'd let Dean kill her for it.

"I see," Gadreel said, resigned. "I _have _always been a fool." His anger resurfaced. "I suffered for thousands of years within Heaven's prison, chained and tortured, meant to remain there for all of eternity. And all because you refused to speak out in my defense. Is that it? Is that all I was worth to you, Gabriel? A scapegoat?"

Sam looked to Gabriel. He knew it wasn't as simple as that. The more he heard of Heaven's politics, the more things started to make sense. Naomi and what she'd done to Cas. Why Anna had acted the way she had. Why Cas had let him out of Bobby's panic room. Why Gabriel would throw his hands up and say to Hell with it.

Why Gadreel would make himself a monster for someone who claimed to be able to fix it, to fix him.

Gabriel stepped towards Gadreel. "Yeah. I may not've thrown you under the bus, but I let it happen. Learned that from Luci, too. Think the wrath of an Archangel is bad? Hoo, you should try facing three of 'em. And Dad. _No, thanks._" He let his head loll to the side as he stared up at Gadreel. The startling difference in height between them didn't diminish Gabriel's presence. "And y'know what? I've also thrown Sam under the bus. Cas. The idiot outside with the bowlegs."

Sam frowned, wondering where Gabriel was going with his little speech. On the other side of the room, Cas mimicked him.

"I fucked with the Three Stooges and was downright nasty. Because I got a kick out of it. And to prove a point." Gabriel shrugged, a smile forming on his lips. "I didn't prove my point." He held up a finger. "But I did die!" His smile was eerily chipper. "Because I learned _my _lesson. Mostly thanks to these two yahoos. Dean? Eh."

The narrow-eyed look of uncertainty on Gadreel's face was comical. "I'm not-" He composed himself. "So, you _did _die?"

"Couldn't really let Luci get his hands on his and Michael's chosen Vessels, now could I?"

"But, you are alive now."

"Brilliant observation, Watson."

Ever so slowly the wheels turned in Gadreel's head. When he inhaled sharply, Sam knew Gadreel had figured out what Gabriel was getting at. _That makes one of us._

"_He_ raised you?" Gadreel breathed. It was the right question, judging by Gabriel's expression.

"Yup. Like I said, learned my lesson. Made mistakes, learned from 'em. 'Course, then I made a whole new set o' mistakes, but I had people help me learn from those, too. D'ya see where I'm going with this, Gad?"

Gadreel nodded once. "Yes. I think I do."

Unfortunately, so did Sam. If God Himself felt the Trickster deserved a second chance after all the bullshit he'd pulled, the lives he intentionally or unintentionally ruined, because he'd had a change of heart and acted for the betterment of mankind for once, then who was to say that any of them should be denied the same chance? Or that they couldn't learn from their mistakes?

"Good!" Gabriel chirped. He took a few steps back from Gadreel, giving the other space. "Because the only reason I kept Dean out of this room was to keep him from stabbing you. Repeatedly. Don't make me regret that decision."

Again, Gadreel nodded, though with more uncertainty.

Castiel sighed deeply. "What do we do now?"

"So," Sam began, "Metatron knows Gadreel is having doubts. Knows Gadreel met with Cas. Twice. Lets him take the Horn and find Gabriel, find us." Sam frowned. He tilted his head. "Wait. You said the Horn resonates with Gabriel. Metatron would've known that Gabriel was with me and Dean. He's _been_ with me and Dean, and we haven't exactly been staying in this hideout." He looked to Gabriel. "Who's his endgame, you or Cas?"

"Knowing him? All of us are his endgame. We're all threats. He's just getting his ducks in a row."

"Gabriel turned his back on Heaven," Cas spoke again. "Or, that's the narrative Metatron could weave. So did I. Gadreel has long been perceived as an outcast." Gadreel's face clearly showed what he thought of that. "Put all of us together on one side and it might be easier to sway other angels into fighting against us."

"We also have to consider that some of our _current_ angels will leave, since we're housing the guy that killed some of their friends," Sam added.

"Nice to see we're all on the same page," Gabriel said.

Gadreel looked regretful. "It would have been better for me to remain with Metatron."

"No!" Gabriel shouted. Sam was surprised to hear his voice alongside Gabriel's.

"No matter what side you're on, you bring danger, Gadreel," Cas explained. "If you're with us, at least we can watch you. For everyone's safety, including yours."

"Speaking of, where are we gonna put him?" Sam asked. "This room's warded and all, but the mole didn't have any problem getting to Ezra. It would be counterproductive to keep him in here."

"Why must I hide?"

"Didja forget the number of people who wanna stab ya?" Gabriel replied.

"I would assume that, with us on the same side, they would be unwilling to incur punishment by betraying an ally."

"Wow, do _you_ need a crash course in reality."

"We'll have to find somewhere else. Somewhere that isn't this compound," Castiel answered Sam. "And then ward it. Of course, Gadreel, that means you'll not be able to leave whenever you want. We may even have to give you a talisman that blocks Metatron's sight specifically, similar to the one Gabriel and the Winchesters use. There's no guarantee it'll work, if Metatron planned this whole thing, but it's better than nothing."

"Very well. I see your point. I will play by your rules."

"Good." Castiel moved from his spot behind the table and made his way around. He walked past the others and opened the door. Looking over his shoulder, he addressed Gadreel. "Follow me."

As Cas left the room, Gadreel looked to Gabriel and then Sam. He seemed unsettled, as if he was unsure what to make of the situation he'd put himself in. Without a word, he trailed after Cas with an unhurried gait. It wouldn't take long for him to catch up.

"Well, that was fun," Gabriel muttered.

"Gabe," Sam said. When Gabriel faced him, he continued. "I need to speak with Dean. Gotta tell him what's going on."

"I'm assuming there's an implied, 'Without you,' in that statement?"

"I'm sorry. It's just. Dean-"

"I get it, Sam," Gabriel smiled. "I pissed him off. He's not going to be able to think with a level head if the asshole angel who put him in timeout is breathing down his neck."

"Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. Unlike your brother, I don't get jealous when you hang out with people who aren't me." He smirked playfully. "Unless they're me but not me, _then_…"

Sam's smile was bashful as he hung his head. _Tulpa joke. Funny._

Gabriel left. He took a right once past the door, headed the way Cas and Gadreel had gone. Sam, however, stopped at the threshold and looked to his left. Benjamin was gone, and he was a little surprised to see Dean still there, though he wasn't so surprised to see just how angry and tense his brother had become. When Sam offered him a hesitant smile and puppy dog eyes, seeking forgiveness, Dean stormed over to him.

Dean pointed at him with a stern finger. "I don't care that he's your boyfriend, I don't appreciate being left out in the dark, Sam."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Oh, don't give me that. Dicks touched! That's all that's needed."

The corner of Sam's lips twitched as he fought a smile. "Really? So, all the women you've ever been with are all your girlfriends now?"

Dean raised his finger again. He waved it a few times in Sam's direction, clearly wanting to say something. But he couldn't. Because Sam had a point. When Sam raised his brows for Dean to go on, Dean dropped his hand in defeat.

"Shut up," he mumbled.

Sam nodded, accepting his victory. "C'mon. Let's go back to the hotel."

"Wait a minute," Dean protested. "What about assbag? We're just gonna let him go?"

"Let's go back to the hotel," Sam repeated, slower. "Where the walls _don't _have ears."

Dean nodded, just as slowly, then shook his head. Sam looked forward to only adding to his confusion.

* * *

Dean sat on his bed with his head in his hands. Sam had given him a summary of what they'd discussed in the room without him. He'd made sure to word things in such a light that _didn't_ sound like he was sticking up for Gadreel, because he wasn't, but he did try and paint Dean an accurate picture of someone who wasn't the brightest bulb in the bunch but also extremely important to their overall mission. That mission, of course, being to stop Metatron, fix Heaven, and shove the angels back up where they belonged.

Dean scrubbed at his face with his palms and then laced his fingers together in front of him.

"He killed Kevin."

"You can't keep using that as an excuse not to do the logical thing here."

"And why not?" Dean asked, though there was hardly any fight in his voice.

"Frankly? It's starting to insult Kevin's memory."

Dean looked towards the wall. He wasn't happy with Sam's answer but he didn't refute it, either.

"Hey, I'm guilty of holding on, too." Sam continued with a shrug. "I can't… I can't get it out of my head, y'know? Every time I look at Gadreel, _I know_. But… I also wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew I had the opportunity to finish what Kevin started, to reverse Metatron's spell, and I didn't. Because of revenge. I can't do that, Dean."

Dean chuckled once, a bitter sound. He turned his head back towards Sam, though he still wouldn't look him in the eye. "Yeah. I can't, either."

He wanted to say something. Sam could tell by the way he fidgeted, the way his eyes wouldn't light on one area of the rug for too long. Sam waited. He watched Dean's leg bounce for a moment. Soon, Dean took a deep breath in, steeling his nerves.

"But, like you, every time I look at him, I see…" Dean cleared his throat. "And I _can't_... I can't stop the humming, Sam. I-" He cut himself off. His fingers dug into his forearm as he placed his palm over the Mark. "As much as I hated being kept out of that room back there, I _knew_ I wouldn't have been able to stay in there long. Not without doing something I would've regretted later."

When Dean looked up at him it was with haunted eyes.

Rarely had Sam seen that helplessness in his brother. He'd known Dean was scared, that he fought against the Mark's influence. He could still picture the animalistic rage on Dean's face after Dean had killed Abaddon. The terror that had followed as Dean had flung the First Blade to the floor. But seeing that terror again, and so raw, in his brother's eyes hurt. Because he couldn't do anything to help. Not _him_.

"I know," Sam croaked. "But Gabriel's healed now. Abaddon's dead. He said he'd help get rid of it, or change it."

Dean laughed. "Yeah. Not sure I'm ready for that." At Sam's look, he continued. "Look, I get that he's trying to help. He's _mostly _not the Trickster anymore. He's not _as _annoying, either. But… Sam, my soul's fucked up enough as it is. I'm a stone's throw away from being a demon. I can feel it. I'm just." He licked his lips. "What if he can't? What if he messes up and it only makes me worse? Hell, what if I explode!"

"One less Hilton in the world?"

"I'm serious, Sam!"

"Yeah, no, I know. Sorry. I…"

He'd never really thought about what would happen if Gabriel failed in saving Dean. Well, he had. Once. There was still the option of using the blood purification technique the Men of Letters had come up with. Yet, that wasn't a permanent fix. The Mark would still try and corrupt his brother. Constantly fighting against its influence was no way to live. _No _good_ way, anyway._

He didn't like the Dean the Mark was making, just as Dean didn't. Sure, his brother had problems. They'd had problems. However, hurdles had been jumped over before. Compromises had been made. The relationship between them had been mended many times. The Dean he saw when the Mark had control? He couldn't compromise with someone like that. Not because of any moral code but because it would simply be impossible.

"It'll work," Sam stated with conviction. _It has to._

"Yeah, maybe," Dean mumbled. He sighed. "Man, I could use a beer."

"So, go get one? Fridge's right there." Sam pointed at the minibar next to the headboard.

Dean looked at it, fidgeted, and then sheepishly faced Sam again. "Um. No. No, I'm good."

"What?"

"'What' nothin'. There's nothing to what."

Dean was hiding something. He was embarrassed. Like the dutiful younger brother he was, Sam decided to persist in pestering Dean for answers as to why.

Sam squinted. "Now that I think about it, when was the last time you drank?"

"Uh," Dean hesitated. "Af-after Gabriel, um, revealed the whole Mark of Cain thing? Remember? You called me askin' for some sleeping pills because ya had to go save the day."

"Dean, that was forever ago." Now Sam was worried. "Are you seriously telling me you've not touched _anything _for weeks?"

"Look, Gabriel told me not to do anything demonic, okay!" Dean defended. "I'm not trying to speed up the process to becoming black-eyed hellspawn, thank you very much!"

Sam couldn't help but grin at Dean's explanation. Of course, when Dean saw Sam's reaction, he frowned pissily at him. Sam held up his hands to signify he meant no harm.

"Dude. I don't think drinking puts you on the fast track to Satan. In fact, I'm pretty sure it doesn't."

"Well, I'm not taking any chances."

A thought occurred to Sam. "You haven't watched any porn, either, have you?"

Again, Dean looked embarrassed. "No," he muttered, nearly too quiet to hear.

"_Wow._"

"Shut up! It's not funny, Sam!"

"Gabriel's made porn, I've fucked an Archangel, and you're afraid to watch porn."

Dean threw his hands into the air. "In that case, why don't you just give me a copy of Gabriel's greatest hits and I'll get right on it!"

"I might be on there."

"_Never _mind! I'm good."

Sam laughed. Dean schooled his features to appear bothered, but Sam could see the slight humor in his eyes.

Yes, the Mark had to be removed. Sam doubted the Dean it would create would be so hilariously mortified if Sam cracked a joke about him and Gabriel adopting kids and naming one after Dean. And that would be a shame.

"Laugh it up, Romeo. I guess at least _one _of us's getting action." Dean changed topics. "So, we're working with Gadreel now."

Sam's laugh trailed off. He cleared his throat, the weight of their former conversation effectively killing his briefly light-hearted mood. Once again, Sam wished their lives were normal, that they didn't have to worry about enemies, bad guys, and could just joke about stupid things like they'd used to. _I miss gluing beer bottles to Dean's hands_.

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "I mean, _we _don't have to work with him, I guess. We could let Cas handle all the dealings with him. Get him to tell Cas where Metatron's hiding out and how to defeat him."

Now that he'd said it, he fully realized that they _didn't _have to be around Gadreel to get the information he had. Cas and Gabriel had been the ones pushing for him to join their cause, not Sam and Dean. Granted, their plan to use Gadreel against Metatron was well-intended and made sense, but neither Sam or Dean could stand the guy. Dean moreso, considering his supernatural affliction.

"I could stab him," Dean offered. "Metatron, I mean. Actually, I'd rather stab both of them. The First Blade took out Abaddon, maybe it's got enough juice to kill an angel pretending to be God?"

"Unlike porn and drinking, I think murder _does_ make the Mark worse," Sam replied darkly.

"You got a better idea?" Dean challenged, though he seemed sincere in his question.

"No," Sam admitted. "Not really. But we both know what'll happen to you if you lay your hands on the Blade again."

Dean wasn't happy with Sam's answer, but he didn't try to argue his point. The fact he gave up so easily gave Sam hope. With Abaddon, Dean had insisted he and he alone could kill her. It was his duty, his burden. He would happily martyr himself to take her out. However, now, after experiencing what he had by killing her, maybe he was realizing some things about himself and his situation. _What are the chances he learns he doesn't have to do things alone?_

"Unlike with Abaddon," Sam went on, "we don't need a special sword to take him out. At least, that's not what we've been told. Metatron boasted about being a run-of-the-mill angel when we met him. If we get the Angel Tablet away from him, any angel blade will do him in. So. I think it's best if we just let Gabriel do what he has to."

Dean stared at him, hard, as he thought over Sam's words. With a shrug, he relented.

"You're probably right. And one less day I have to live with this thing," Dean waved his arm, "the better. Speaking of, when d'you think Gabriel's coming home?"

Good question.

Gabriel had elected to stay behind with Cas while they figured out a place to put their new ally. His decision had been surprising. It wasn't like Gabriel liked being smothered by the angels under Cas' command. Yet, Gabriel knew more about Earth and hiding than Cas did. It made sense that he'd want to help Cas when it came to what was essentially witness protection.

"No idea."

"Gee, thanks. Lotta help you are."

"Sorry, Dean. He doesn't exactly have a cellphone. And I haven't exactly mastered the ESP side of my freakish powers, yet."

Dean frowned, curious. "You have ESP?"

"I...don't know? I haven't really tried to go that route? I mean, if my powers are based on will and imagination, then: Maybe? But, I'd rather not make a fool of myself by trying to telepathically ask Gabriel when he's coming back."

Dean hummed as he considered the possibility. "Yeah, well, maybe you should try to master the ESP side of things. It'd save us a ton in minutes."

"Ha _ha_."

At least Dean was making fun of his abnormal powers and not losing his mind over them. Sam had long since grown tired of, 'Stop. Don't do that. Because I said so.' _But he can go and make a deal with Cain. Because Dean wouldn't be able to see hypocrisy if it hit him in the face._ _Repeatedly_.

Dean slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. Habit had Sam pushing himself out of the chair he was sitting in. It was only when he registered that he was standing that he noticed he didn't know where they were going, if they were even going anywhere. Dean could be going to the bathroom and Sam's muscle memory had just told him he need to go with him.

"Right! I'm hungry, and there's a restaurant downstairs with my name on it. I say we eat and ignore the possible end of the world for a few hours." Dean's smile was mocking.

Sam nodded. "Good plan."

* * *

Gabriel wasn't gone too long. Not by Sam's standards, anyway. Three hours seemed to fly by when one of them was spent eating and chatting with Dean and the other two were spent showering and watching mind-numbing game shows on local cable.

Sam blamed his newest addiction on Gabriel. At least their binge watching had gotten him over the whole getting hit in the balls thing. He was holding onto the herpes joke, though. _That _low blow wasn't as appreciated.

When the door slammed open, Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. Years of hunting had his muscles trained to react quickly, something Gabriel should have considered before nearly giving him a heart attack. Gabriel's self-satisfied, cocky grin didn't alleviate Sam's nerves any. Sam closed his eyes and mentally told his body to calm down, it was just an idiot at the door and not a monster.

"Honey, I'm home!" Gabriel sing-songed.

Sam hummed at him, annoyed, and watched as Gabriel strode over to where he was on the bed, head propped up on the headboard. Without warning, Gabriel flung himself down across it _and _Sam's outstretched legs. Sam grunted in protest. Gabriel, however, didn't even flinch.

"Aw, why the long face?" Gabriel pouted. "Miss me?"

Sam stared down at Gabriel, arms still folded with a bored look on his face. The heat seeping into his skin from Gabriel was distracting. As was the knowledge that, if Gabriel stayed where he was, Sam wouldn't be able to feel his legs in a few minutes. Still, he was in no hurry to move the other. His weight was oddly comforting. His smugness, not so much. _Okay, so it's a little comforting, too. But only because it's Gabriel._

After a beat, Sam relented with a roll of his eyes. "Yes. I missed you. You happy?"

"As a clam in high water." He flipped himself over onto his back to use Sam as a headrest. "So, what'd _you_ do while I was gone?"

The chatter from the television was ignored in favor of staring at the highlights in Gabriel's hair. "Talked to Dean. Ate. Watched TV."

Gabriel frowned and cut his eyes towards Sam. "Wow. Your life is extremely boring when not hunting. Ack!" He cried out in complaint as Sam jostled his head with a sharp raising of his legs.

"I prefer it that way, thank you," Sam replied. Gabriel resettled when Sam made no move to try and knock him off again. "How's Gadreel?"

"_He's _as happy as a duck in Arizona."

Sam's face scrunched up at the idiom. One day, he'd have to ask Gabriel how he'd perfected his art of wordplay, where he'd learned the weird sayings he spouted off. _Or _when _he learned them, _Sam thought. _What slang was popular in the 50's, I wonder?_

"Must not like where you put him." Sam was just about to reach his hand forward to run it through Gabriel's hair when he saw Gabriel pinch his lips together. "_Where_ did you put him?"

It was less a question and more of a demand, but Sam needed to know the answer. Because he had a strong suspicion that he wasn't going to like said answer. And, if he didn't like it, neither would Dean. It was Dean he was worried about.

"Oooh," Gabriel drawled, uncomfortable. He knew Sam wouldn't like what he said next. "Few floors up."

"Few-" Sam caught himself, mentally replayed Gabriel's reply, and then assured himself that, yes, he had heard that correctly. "A few floors up! Gabriel-!"

"_What?_" Gabriel whined. He sat up on the bed and shifted to face Sam. "I get it. You hate the guy. I don't blame you. But we couldn't leave him in Cas' hidey hole. We couldn't find anywhere else to stash him-"

"For three hours?"

"-and we figured keeping our enemies closer was the best option. Even if it's what Metatron wants."

Sam shook his head slowly. "No. Not right now it isn't."

"I'm not asking you to forgive the guy," Gabriel said, suddenly calm and serious.

"I'm not-! Okay, first of all, I'm _not_ going to forgive the guy. Hell could freeze over before I'd even consider it."

"Well. Lucifer…"

"_Second of all_, I'm not talking about _me_, I'm talking about _Dean_. You know, the Mark? What if he runs into Gadreel while we're here?"

"Relax, Sam. He won't. Gadreel's been told to stay put. House arrest."

Sam nodded, mocking. "Oh, really? Because being told what to do has really worked out for the people he's sided with in the past. In fact, I distinctly remember him walking out of the Bunker _in me._"

Gabriel didn't react to Sam's clear disdain. His face remained still, passive. He heard Sam, took his criticisms to heart, but he also still acted like he knew what he was doing, that he knew something Sam didn't.

His demeanor both comforted and infuriated Sam. Sam trusted Gabriel. However, he didn't trust Gadreel, or the hold Metatron might still have on him. Nor the spy they still hadn't identified.

"House arrest," Gabriel repeated. "He's not getting out of his room without a nice little shock. Like a dog collar! And, considering how much he _loves_ pain, I don't think he's going to disobey anytime soon. Furthermore, the sigils Cas and I used will alert us if he _does_ try to act on his own."

"Does he know that?" Sam asked.

"Well, we didn't exactly shove him in the room and bolt. _That_ might make him a little more hesitant to trust us. No, like earlier, we told him what we were doing before even bringing him here. He preferred here to being plopped in the middle of nowhere."

"Of course he did," Sam muttered. _There's safety in numbers. Why _wouldn't _he want to be near us?_ "Why didn't you just trap him in there?"

Gabriel smiled at him in sympathy. "Too much restriction. Don't want him feeling like a caged animal, just an inconvenienced one."

Sam gave a long sigh. He thought over Gabriel's explanation for his decision, contemplated the situation they were all in, and agreed that keeping Gadreel close wasn't the worst idea. Certainly not one Sam would've gone with, especially since they assumed Metatron had sent him to them in the first place, but being able to keep a better eye on him was better than the bastard turning up dead, like Ezra, and them not knowing how or when until they found the aftermath.

In the short silence between them, the sounds of the TV and the clock on the wall drifted into Sam's awareness. It wasn't the commercials that caught most of his attention, however, it was the clock.

He gasped sharply. At the sound, Gabriel tilted his head.

"What?" Gabriel questioned. He squinted at Sam. "You got that, 'Oh, wait, I remembered something,' look."

Sam licked his lips and had a surprisingly hard time locking onto Gabriel's eyes for more than a second. "Um. You remember when we were in that room back at Cas'? Before we found out Ezra kicked the bucket?"

"_Yeah_," Gabriel drawled, urging Sam to continue.

"There was a clock on the wall."

Gabriel blinked. "And y'all complain about _my _theatrics. Spit it out, Sam."

"I may or may not have made it...stop. Like, with my powers."

"Huh." Gabriel nodded slowly. "You got history with telekinesis?"

"Yeah, but. It wasn't-wasn't the _same?_ I mean, in the past it was a reaction. I just kinda panicked and _bam!_ Something moved. But this time, I… I thought of the gears in the clock, imagined them stopping, and then I realized...they weren't turning."

"Keyword: Imagined. Still the same powers, you're only mastering them. Now, if you'd managed to stop _actual_ time, I'd be a little worried."

Sam huffed a nervous laugh. "Yeah, me too."

Gabriel studied him a moment. "Does it bother you? Y'know, being a step away from the wizarding world of Harry Potter?"

Sam's next laugh was more genuine. "No. It's just different. Not used to it. Still. Don't think I ever will be." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm human. Despite what Azazel and others tried to tell me, I wasn't _born _special. So, doing things with my mind - dreamwalking, manifesting objects, influencing things - feels a bit weird. Like, I still feel like I shouldn't be _able_ to do that stuff, but I am. Y'know?"

"Mmm, no! Can't say as I do. Kinda born with mine."

"Right."

"But, if I _lost_ my phenomenal cosmic power, I imagine I'd feel similar. Only in reverse. I'd instinctively go to snap up some grub only, nope, gotta do things the hard way."

"Cooking's really not that hard."

"Says the guy who's been doing it most his life."

Sam conceded defeat. Yet, he had a feeling that Gabriel _did _know how to cook, he was just too spoiled to ever give it a try. Sure, Archangels didn't have to eat, no angels did, but why not program the ability into their metaphysical brains? Sam would. Just to cover all the bases.

The joking attitude Gabriel exuded shifted into something a little more playful. He crawled over to Sam. Sam watched, unmoving, as Gabriel lay down on top of him. His chin pressed into Sam's chest.

"So." Gabriel's head bounced as he spoke. "Wanna show me how much you _really_ missed me?"

The eyebrows wiggled at him only made the corniness of Gabriel's proposition worse. Sadly, the longer Sam stared at the vulpine smile and expectant eyes inches from his face, the more he felt himself cave in. When Sam tilted his head with humor and mock disappointment, Gabriel grinned.

* * *

Charred metal gates were open before him. They looked awfully familiar. Tall, imposing, intricately carved. It took him a moment, but then it clicked. _The gates at the zoo. This is a dream_. Not that he wasn't used to repeating scenary or scenarios in his dreams, he just didn't think _here _would be one. _I wonder if I'll run into Gabriel again?_

The walls that stretched on either side of the gates were equally blackened by the raging inferno that had engulfed the aviary before. The horrific sounds of screaming birds and crackling wood haunted him in this space. Merely remembering what had happened made him unsettled. He shivered.

His eyes followed along a wall before they noticed the burnt foliage. Vines and ferns that he didn't remember stretched away from walls and towards him. They were soiled, nothing but ash, yet oddly they maintained their forms. When his line of sight reached his shoes, he realized he wasn't a child anymore. _I was a kid before, wasn't I?_ The difference was distressing. _When did I grow up?_

His mind was foggy, details slow to fit into place. Every observation was like his brain was moving through water. Slowly, he turned. Vines and ferns were dwarfed by trees. Such tall trees, leaves stripped of them. No birds to land on their twisted, sharp branches. The birds' wings left imprints in the ground.

_They're not birds_. The thought was sudden, though it made sense. A eureka moment if he'd ever had one. _They were never birds. Where am I?_

A noise started in his mind. Shrill, but not monotone. It fluctuated, as if it had song. He flinched at the discomfort it brought him and continued to turn. The sound grew louder, until, as he caught sight of a lone, large tree in the center of a field, it was nearly unbearable.

It was the tree that had caught fire, the one that had started the downfall of the- _Angels?_

The voice in his head. It sounded like them, but not quite. Deeper, almost. More melodic. Like the Word.

He squinted against the pain it caused him and gripped at his head. He didn't shut his eyes, though, for there was a red, glowing mark in the distance, shortly before the tree. A mark he'd seen many times before.

Sam gasped as the world around him disintegrated, the ash that had made up everything dispersing into the air. He panicked, for a moment, fearing that he would fall and disappear into the nothingness beneath him.

He didn't fall. The pounding in his skull wouldn't let him question why.

The ash swirled around him, violent and total. It buffeted his clothes, but he remained steady, his hands still clamped over his ears as if they would help.

In the darkness, he saw only the Mark. The light of it grew stronger, more menacing, as the ash around him quickened. Then, something moved within the storm. Around the Mark, the ash started to coalesce. Pale skin, barely visible, could be seen. The longer Sam stared, the clearer the image became.

Her image.

She smiled, small and lethal.

He couldn't breathe. The smoke was in his lungs. _Like a demon's_.

"_Stop it, Sam."_ The song commanded.

* * *

**A/N:** Y'see that box down below? Put words in it.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **When you start plotting the sequel to the sequel without having finished the sequel. Oops. Also, did I get rec'd or something, because a lotta you appeared out of nowhere shortly before this update and I'm confused as to how.

Song worth mention: "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden.

* * *

The ringing in his ears and the receding headache that accompanied it was what woke Sam. He grit his teeth against lingering pain, faintly aware that his hands were already pressed against his ears, as if they could help keep out the phantom noise from his dream. Seconds passed with him disoriented, not entirely sure if he was still in a dream or not, but then he felt the warmth of a hand on his shoulder. The radiated heat of a body beside his. Muscles that ached from sex.

_Gabriel_. Sam cringed as another throb shot through his skull. He curled in tighter on himself, knees already halfway to his chest. It was more an effort of will than his body to crack open his eyes.

The sun was shining, Sam could figure that out by the very fact that he could see Gabriel at all, but the heavy curtains on the windows did a wonderful job of keeping its blinding rays out of his face. Much to his relief. Because his current relationship with the burning ball of plasma was on par with a drunkard's.

His lethargic mind took a moment to process his surroundings. Yes, Gabriel was lying across from him, but he'd also pushed himself back from Sam. _Probably to avoid my legs_. _Or flailing. Did I flail?_ The concerned look on Gabriel's face worried him. His vision periodically blurring didn't help. Sam blinked to try and clear it.

Gabriel watched him for a few seconds. When he seemed satisfied that Sam was wholly conscious, he asked, "You all right?"

"No," Sam croaked. "Had a nightmare."

"Kinda figured."

Something in Gabriel's voice caught Sam's ear, a warble that wasn't as well-concealed as Gabriel might have liked.

"You didn't see?" Sam questioned.

The facade of control Gabriel wore cracked even further at Sam's question. Uncertainty and guilt slipped through his eyes.

"No." He attempted an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Sam. Know we had a whole agreement on not invading personal space and all that, but, uh… Wanted to see what had you so spooked."

Sam frowned. His confusion at least distracted him from the weakening headache. "But. You said-"

"I didn't see, Sam." Gabriel interrupted, oddly quiet. "It wouldn't let me."

Sam wondered at Gabriel's wording. _It_ wouldn't let him.

He noticed his hands were still on his ears, though the ringing had dissolved into a slight hiss, and removed them. Better to have a serious conversation _without_ looking ridiculous. He unfurled his legs and propped himself onto an elbow, earning another pang for his efforts. Gabriel's hand on his arm tightened when he saw Sam flinch, but, when Sam carefully shook his head, he loosened his hold. Somewhat.

"What's _it?" _Sam prompted. He didn't like how bothered Gabriel was by the question. Something was wrong. Or, if it wasn't wrong, it certainly wasn't right, either.

"I don't know." That warble again. "You whimpered, and I know your history, so I figured I'd bail ya out." A shaky smile. "Didn't work. And neither did taking a closer look. Got bounced off like a rubber ball hittin' brick."

"But, I don't-."

He didn't understand. He hadn't even felt Gabriel, now that he thought about it. Back with the Grace, Sam had always been able to sense the odd blip of presence, maybe power, that it had given off whenever it entered Sam's mind. And Gabriel had always been so apparent in his hijackings that Sam hadn't _needed_ to suss him out. Gadreel...

At the thought, Sam gasped sharply. "You don't think Gadreel-."

"No. I would've been able to sense him, and he wouldn't've been able to keep me out. I'm bigger than he is."

His answer didn't assuage Sam's fears any. Not many beings could claim to be bigger, stronger, than Gabriel. _And one...wins it on a technicality_. The sudden realization chilled Sam. He sat up, Gabriel's hand sliding off his arm, and brought his knees to his chest. He buried his face in his hands. The hissing in his ears had stopped.

"Metatron?" He dreaded.

Gabriel moved. The mattress shifted under his weight, the sheets moved around Sam's waist, and then Gabriel's warm chest was pressed up against Sam's back. His arms wrapped around Sam's middle as he placed his chin on Sam's shoulder blade.

"Maybe," Gabriel replied. "Depends. What did you see?"

Sam lowered his hands to wrap them around Gabriel's forearms, using him as an anchor. "You remember back in Dayton, when you kinda...accidentally made-out with me?"

"Yup."

"The dream before that, the one you said you didn't go into, this dream was in the same place."

Sam recounted the first dream before moving on to the second, focusing on the disturbing imagery of each. It was the imagery that held the symbols, after all. His old feelings of rejection, of uncleanliness, he left out. They weren't important.

Gabriel was silent after Sam finished. Given their positions, Sam couldn't readily tell what the silence meant. He could only focus on the slight uptick of Gabriel's pulse against his back.

"Ya ever have prophetic dreams before, Sam?"

The question confused him, as did the reason for the slight crack in Gabriel's voice. "No?" He answered. "I mean, with Azazel, I had visions of things that were going to happen, but… Those felt real. Happened more often when I was awake. And they went away after Azazel died."

"That wasn't prophecy," Gabriel clarified, eerily somber. "Prophecy is a tool used by the divine and the divine only."

"So, it _was_ Metatron?"

Another pause. "Unless my brothers have cracked the Cage or Pops has decided to intervene, yeah. Metadouche is a strong contender."

The goosebumps rising on Sam's exposed skin weren't from the temperature in the room. He already didn't like Metatron. He liked him being in his head even less.

"What's he want, though? What's it supposed to mean?"

"What do _you_ think it means?"

Annoyed, Sam turned in Gabriel's arms to glare half-heartedly down at him. He didn't appreciate the cryptic suggestion on top of the already cryptic dream. However, seeing the look on Gabriel's face, Sam's ill mood evaporated. _Right. Prophecy is for the prophet to interpret_.

"I think… I think there might be something wrong with the Mark." He tilted his head slightly, eyes unfocusing. "The woman appearing happened after my ears started ringing."

"You didn't mention ringing," Gabriel interrupted.

His forceful tone snapped Sam out of his memory. Focusing on Gabriel, Sam saw how perturbed he was by the information.

Sam opened his mouth to apologize, to explain how he'd thought that the oddity had corresponded with someone poking into his head and thus hadn't brought it up beforehand. Instead, before he could get a word out, Gabriel's left arm was pulled from Sam's grasp and his palm placed against Sam's forehead.

For a brief moment, Sam felt something, a warmth that extended from Gabriel's hand and into him. _Grace._ He knew the sensation. He'd been healed enough by angels to be highly familiar with that particular brand of heat and movement, different from the numbing effects of exposed Grace. However, as soon as the Grace touched the last remnants of his headache the pain returned fullforce.

Sam cried out, hands reaching for his head. Through the pain, he felt something arc. Gabriel jerked away from him as if he'd been burned. The headboard slammed into the wall when Gabriel backed into it.

Mercifully, the searing throb that had come from Gabriel's gentle prod faded away as quickly as it'd come. Sam forced his eyes open with a grimace and saw that Gabriel didn't appear much better.

He'd practically curled up into a ball against the headboard, every inch of him carefully kept away from Sam as he stared, terrified, at the wall on Sam's right. Gabriel held his wrist tightly, left hand trembling from whatever had raced into it from Sam's mind. In fact, all of him was trembling, though Gabriel's tenseness counteracted the small shivers that shook him.

Concerned, Sam reached for him, but Gabriel stopped him with a quick raising of his hand. He closed his eyes tight against whatever ailed him. The abrupt dismissal hurt.

"Gimme a minute," Gabriel spoke quickly, voice quivering.

Sam waited. He looked over Gabriel's nude form, checking for any signs of injury. From what he could see of Gabriel's back, the collision with the headboard hadn't left a mark. It most likely wouldn't, given what he was. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Still, Sam fought the urge to touch him, to inspect him for damage he couldn't see and to comfort him.

Gabriel lowered his hand and rolled his head before he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He kept his left arm pressed tightly against his stomach. "Haven't felt _that_ in a while."

"Felt what?" Sam asked, distracted. He stared at Gabriel's arm, afraid he had hurt him.

Gabriel chuckled low in his chest. "Let's just say the bros have been ruled out."

"Gabriel, I'm not following. Are you all right?"

Gabriel tilted his head to glance at Sam. He did a doubletake when he finally noticed how upset Sam was. He shook his head dismissively.

"I'm fine," he replied. Sam looked wholly unconvinced. "I'm _fine_, Sam. Physically. And mentally." Bitterly, he added, "..._Emotionally, _on the other hand."

"Why? What's wrong? What happened?"

"_Breathe_, Sam." Gabriel admonished, though not unkindly. He shrugged and looked away again, back towards the wall. "I just...got a nice scolding from an energy pattern that is so freakishly close to _God's_ that I...panicked. A little." At Sam's frown he corrected, "Okay, a _lot._"

"What did you do? My head-"

"Prophetic dreams are generally sent painlessly," Gabriel interrupted, trying to head off Sam's curiosity. "Images are beamed down and that's it."

Sam shook his head, "But mine was...painful. And _loud_."

"Because someone was talking to you, interfering with you." Gabriel was unnerved. "I suspected it, you confirmed it, and then I tried to trace the call."

"And you got zapped."

Gabriel smiled in affirmation.

Piece by piece the puzzle came together. Someone, either God or Metatron, had made Sam dream. They had warned him, most likely about the Mark. They had kept Gabriel from seeing the dream, as he wasn't the one it was meant for. They had covered their tracks, essentially booby-trapping Sam's mind from further, deeper investigation.

A silly sliver of hope cropped up within Sam. "You said it felt like God's energy pattern. What if it was God?"

Something dark shone in Gabriel's eyes. His smile became almost cruel. "No."

"Well, why not?" Sam implored. "Metatron wouldn't be warning us about bad things. He'd want those to happen."

"Because _fuck_ Him, that's why!" Gabriel shouted, startling Sam. He crowded into Sam's space, closed fists sinking into the mattress with his weight. "That Deadbeat didn't even bother to lift a _finger_ to stop Mikey and Luci from tearing up the joint! He hasn't so much as batted an eye while thousands of angels slaughter each other trying to get home when it was _His _Scribe that kicked them out! And now - now! - he wants to try and make _you_ clean up his mess? Ha!"

"He brought you back," Sam lifelessly tried to defend.

The broken laughter that followed said what Gabriel thought of that. He shook his head. "Yeah? And how did you get out of the Cage, Sam?"

Sam remembered hearing that question long ago, said by the same voice. Though, back then, it'd been said with a more curious and less scathing tone. He stared unflinchingly into Gabriel's eyes. Gabriel's rage and derision weren't directed at him, they were directed at Gabriel's so-called deadbeat of a Father. So, Sam let him rant and rave. From personal experience, he knew it'd be cathartic.

"Wasn't my Old Man, was it? No. Because He doesn't give a shit. He stopped caring _a long _time ago. Puts His pawns where He needs them to be and lets them sacrifice themselves for the greater good. After throwing yourself into _the _Pit of Hell, He was going to let you rot. He-"

Gabriel's voice failed him. He bowed his head, eyes shut tight, as he tried to rein himself in.

Sam could feel the power thrumming through the air, tickling the fine hairs on his body.

He studied the top of Gabriel's head for a moment and then moved forward. Gently, slowly, he wrapped his arms behind Gabriel's back. He felt Gabriel jerk at the contact. Then, the muscles beneath Sam's arms relaxed. He gingerly pulled Gabriel towards him.

His hope was that Gabriel would place his chin on his shoulder, melt into him and allow himself to calm down. Gabriel, as usual, was stubborn, instead resting his forehead there. The hold was awkward, Sam kept at a small distance, but if it was all Gabriel needed, it was all Sam would give him.

They stayed that way, silent, until Sam's leg began to cramp and the static in the air dissipated.

"We need to see to your brother," Gabriel mumbled, his breath hot against Sam's skin.

"But what if the dream is right? It's prophetic for a reason."

"We know what the Mark will do if left alone." Gabriel finally pulled back to stare at Sam with tired eyes. "We _don't _know what'll happen if it's not."

Sam tried to smile. "That's usually a reason _not _to do something."

Gabriel shrugged. "Mystery or demon Dean. Take your pick, Sam, but I think we both know what outcome everyone's against."

Unease settled in Sam's chest. Gabriel was right. None of them wanted Dean to become whatever Cain was, a Knight of Hell. _Least of all Dean. _And if Metatron _had_ been the culprit behind his vision, then doing the exact opposite of what he wanted might be the best option. _And I _did _hear the Word._

In the end, logic overwrote his hesitance.

He nodded his agreement. "You sure you're feeling up to it?"

"Nope. But I don't think Dean's soul cares about my baggage. I know _Dean_ doesn't." Gabriel patted Sam's leg and then slid off the bed. "Up an' at 'em."

Sam watched from over his shoulder as Gabriel disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The muffled sound of water running soon reached his ears. For a brief moment, Sam wondered if they were finally going to take that shower together. The thought was soon smothered.

Dean was going to be put through extreme pain to try and stop the Mark. Sam trusted Gabriel. The Archangel knew what he was doing. However, though Sam'd caved to Gabriel's point in regards to the Mark, the memory of ash and darkness still haunted him. As did the woman and the words of warning that had sung in his ears.

He prayed beyond all hope they were doing the right thing.

* * *

Sam shot Gabriel's back his third uncertain look of the day. Hours ago, Sam had texted Dean to tell him to get ready. Gabriel wanted to do his thing. Rip the Band-Aid off and get it over with. And, in normal Dean fashion, his brother had told him to piss off until he'd had time to wake up, shit, shower, and shave, as well as get some grub in his stomach.

"I demand a last meal, Sammy."

With those harrowing words, Sam had further solidified his opinion that Murphy's Law should have been named after him, instead. Or his family as a whole.

The only thing that kept Sam from calling the whole thing off was the idea that they, the Winchesters, generally cleaned up the cosmic messes they made. Generally. Usually with the aid of others who sacrificed themselves more often than not, but the world remained standing in the end.

It was the sacrificing part that made Sam fret, a fourth glance being sent Gabriel's way.

The walk down the hallway to Dean's room felt like it would never end.

Gabriel knocked, good ol' "Shave and a Haircut," and then Dean opened the door. Dean greeted Gabriel with a snappish remark that Sam didn't catch, his attention too quickly drawn to Castiel.

Sam was surprised to see him. _They _hadn't called him. Yet, there he stood, like a sentinel, a few feet from the foot of Dean's bed. The slight frown on his face fell short of relaying the gravity of the situation. _Does he even _know_ the gravity of the situation?_

Dean stepped back from the door as Gabriel moved to push his way in.

"Woulda been here sooner if you hadn't needed your last rites," Gabriel sassed.

"Oh, hardy har."

Sam followed Gabriel. His eyes quickly spotted the angelic warding drawn on the walls as Dean shut the door behind them. He recognized some. Sigils that had been painted in Ezra's cell were part of the spellwork now in Dean's room. Others he was shaky on, not entirely sure they weren't leftover memories of Gadreel's. However, he saw no sigils that would keep out angels entirely. _Makes sense._ Still, it made him uneasy, what with their third wheel being upstairs.

"Castiel!" Gabriel exclaimed with too much warmth. "Here for emotional support?"

Cas looked from Gabriel to Dean. Dean shifted uncomfortably, something that wasn't missed by anyone in the room. Cas turned his attention back to Gabriel.

"Yes."

Sam huffed a quiet laugh. His brother _would_ call their only other angel friend to come help him face whatever strange things Gabriel intended to do to his soul. Discussing his fears with Sam had been an outlet, but it probably hadn't served the purpose of calming him down like Cas' knowledge regarding the whole procedure could. And Dean trusted Cas far more than he'd ever trust Gabriel. _Maybe he _does_ know the gravity of the situation. Explains the hours of waiting._

"Uh-huh," Gabriel replied. He twirled his finger to indicate the room. "Nice soundproofing, by the way. Saves me a whole lotta time."

"Soundproofing?" Sam questioned.

"I don't mean to brag, Sam, but I can make your brother scream, too." Gabriel winked at him.

"Ew." Dean remarked.

"Gabriel," Castiel admonished.

"So! How d'you wanna do this?" Gabriel asked.

Dean's shut his eyes and frowned. He clearly hadn't recovered from Gabriel's innuendo, and Gabriel didn't appear willing to stop.

"Standing up? Sitting? Lying down?"

Dean's brow furrowed further as he tilted his head.

"Gabe, please. You're making it worse," Sam pleaded, though he was clearly enjoying Dean's discomfort.

"Gotta get worse before it gets better."

"Dude!" Dean finally shouted.

Gabriel smiled in triumph.

"I suggest sitting," Cas interjected. "It'll give you a better angle."

Gabriel's smile became a smirk as Dean turned on Cas and shrugged with his arms.

"What?" Cas asked, oblivious. "He's going to be shoving his arm through your abdomen and into your soul. If you're-"

"Cas!" Dean warned, hand raised. "Just zip it! Just _ssh_!" He took a steadying breath as Cas looked around, confused. "I swear, if y'all keep talkin', no one's shoving anything anywhere!" Gabriel's brow rose and he opened his mouth to say something. Dean, however, shushed him with a firm point. "Say anything and I swear to God I'll murder you after we're done here."

"But, Dean," Gabriel teased. "Murder's supposed to be a sin! You might just be throwin' your soul right back down into the waiting jaws of Hell."

"I'll take my chances. Considering how much sin _you've_ been livin' in and have yet to be cast down, I think I'll be just fine."

"Touché." Gabriel motioned with his hand and a chair that was sat against the wall moved across the floor, barely skirted past Cas, and came to rest at the foot of Dean's bed. "Have a seat, Dean-o."

The mood in the room quickly dropped as Dean looked down at the chair. Even Cas looked worried for Dean, regretful. None of them wanted Dean to suffer. Not even Gabriel, though he'd deny it. Yet, the Mark had to be dealt with.

Sam still feared his vision, but watching Dean face his own paranoia regarding his fate at Gabriel's hand helped Sam put that worry on the backburner. If Dean was willing to take a risk, so was he. That didn't stop him from praying, though.

Dean stiffly sat down in the chair. He placed his arms on the rests and wiggled to try and get comfortable. With a deep breath, he nodded.

"So," he drawled, "do I need something to bite down on, or?"

Gabriel snapped. Instantly, Dean was bound to the chair with sturdy belts. They held him tight around his arms and chest. Dean jumped at the sudden restriction, as well as the sudden intrusion of thick strip of leather between his teeth. His hands gripped at the armrests tightly, short nails digging into the wood. Sam cringed at his brother's wide eyes. _You didn't have to scare him, Gabe._

Dean recovered quickly. He shot Gabriel a vehement look. Words garbled by the obstacle in his mouth, he still tried to shout, "Fuck you!"

"Sorry, champ," Gabriel replied. He took off his coat, flung it towards the other chair in the room, and began to roll up his left sleeve. "No easy way to do this. Those restraints will keep you seated _and _steady." Gabriel took the few steps forward needed to reach Dean. He placed his right hand on the back of Dean's chair and bent down to look him in the eye. "This is going to hurt. _A lot_. You ready?"

Dean looked over to Sam.

Sam knew what his brother was in store for. He remembered how he'd reacted when Cas had checked to see if he'd had a soul at all. Though the memory of the pain was gone, he knew it hadn't exactly been a walk in the park.

Dean took one look at the sympathy on Sam's face and turned to Cas for comfort. Cas tried to school his features, to give Dean a reassuring nod, but he failed miserably.

With the shaky support of his brother and his best friend, Dean's eyes found Gabriel's again. He nodded to him.

Between breaths, Gabriel's hand punched into Dean. The light that poured from the space-bending wound was red-tainted white. Dean screamed around the leather strap, voice raw and full of unadulterated pain. The sound made both Sam and Cas flinch. Adrenaline rushed through Sam's body, instinct telling him to fight off whatever was hurting his brother, but he kept his feet planted where they were.

Gabriel tilted his head to the side, as if listening for something. On Dean's arm, the Mark began to glow, the same red color that shimmered in his soul and danced across Gabriel. Gabriel frowned, just barely, his eyes squinting as his lips twitched downward. A flash of black raced across Dean's light. Gabriel inhaled sharply, the sound lost in Dean's cries.

Sam shouted as Gabriel flew backward and crashed into the wall. Pictures fell to the floor from the impact. Gabriel crumpled along with them. Dean slumped in his chair with a whimpering groan.

At first, Sam didn't know who to go to, but then Cas jerked towards Dean. His decision made for him, Sam moved, his feet taking him to Gabriel's side.

"Dean!" Cas' frantic shout echoed around them.

"Gabe!" Sam mimicked, already bending down to try and help him up. He reached for Gabriel, but Gabriel pushed himself up lightning fast, eyes wide. For the second time that day, he looked like a frightened animal. Sam grabbed hold of his shoulder, "Gabe, what is it? What's wrong?" _What was that?_ He failed to get out, already turning his head to check on Dean.

Dean looked downright pitiful, pained tears having welled up in his eyes while he tried to gasp for air. Cas put his hands on Dean's cheeks and turned his head to face him. Dean managed to focus on him. Cas was searching for something in Dean's eyes, Sam realized. Whatever he saw, or didn't see, seemed to relax him a little. He looked over his shoulder at Gabriel.

"What was that?" He demanded. Dean shuddered once, face still in his hands.

Sam looked back to Gabriel. Gabriel's eyes were darting around, not quite lighting on anything. Sam gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Gabriel!" Cas barked.

Gabriel startled. He looked up at Cas.

"What _was_ that?"

Gabriel was silent. He looked at the Mark, stared at it for a few, long seconds. The corner of his lips twitched. "Something that shouldn't be possible."

Dean mumbled something, furious. Cas removed the strap in Dean's mouth. "Don't," Dean coughed. "Don't talk in riddles. What the _hell_ did you do to me?"

"Me?" Gabriel questioned. "Nothing. It's what _Lucifer _did that's the problem."

"What did _he_ do!"

"I lied," Gabriel replied. "Not that I knew that at the time, but still."

"Oh, come on!"

Gabriel's expression matched Dean's. "The Mark isn't a mark, it's a Key. _The_ Key. To the Darkness."

"The Darkness?" Cas asked, disturbed. "But that's-"

"Impossible?" Gabriel snarked. "Bedtime story we used to tell you kiddos? Yeah, well, it was real. _She _was real. And the Key to her release, which was originally given to Lucifer, seems to have been passed down from him in the form of the Mark. And things are startin' to make a helluva lot more sense!"

Gabriel moved to push himself off the floor. Sam helped him to his feet.

Dean struggled in his chair, still winded from the ordeal but trying to act like he wasn't. "Someone mind untying me?"

"No." Gabriel's statement was a command as he looked pointedly at Cas and then back to Dean. "We still need to handle the Mark."

Sam felt uneasy. "Wait," he began. "You called the Darkness a _she._ Is she the one from my dream? The one it _warned _me about. Gabe-"

"Sam, we can't let her power continue to leach into your brother." Gabriel stared at Sam. Hard. "The Key is a seal my Father created to make sure she _never _escaped. It was given to Lucifer because he was the brightest out of all of us. Light versus Darkness. You know the cliches. But Lucifer passed the torch. To a human. Human souls, though powerful, come nowhere near close enough to being able to keep her from influencing this world." He shook his head and pointed to Dean's arm. "I have to strengthen that. Or she might just break free one day. You thought my brother was bad? Ho-ho, you haven't seen my aunt."

"Your _aunt?_" Dean questioned.

"God had a sister?" Cas joined, tilting his head to the side. He squinted. "The Darknesswas God's sister?"

Gabriel turned a disinterested look towards them. "Look, we can talk about the skeletons in the closet later. First thing's first. Castiel." He motioned with a hand towards Dean. "Do the honors."

Dean frowned in discomfort. He slumped as much as the belts tied around him would allow.

Cas appeared equally unwilling to continue what Gabriel had started earlier, but he still did what was asked of him. He gave Dean an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," he said as he picked up the leather strap that had fallen around Dean's neck.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean dismissed. "Just try not to kill me and the entire planet while you're at it."

"Will do," Gabriel replied.

As Dean grouchily bit down on the strap, Sam leaned in closer to Gabriel and warned, "I'm telling you, if you mess with the Mark, you risk freeing her. You know that."

"I'm not changing the sigil," Gabriel clarified, voice just as low. "I'm adding more to it, to strengthen it."

"God made the original Key. What makes you think-"

"Humanity. Don't be so surprised, Sam. What species figured out how to cure demons? Wasn't us. Not me, my brothers, Pops. Our magic isn't _your _magic." Gabriel smiled a half-reassuring smile. "But Loki's is. Mostly."

Sam stood back. Apprehension clawed at him, made him anxious, as he stared down at Gabriel. He wasn't as familiar with Loki's brand of magic. _If he learned most of it from humans, or other gods…_ It still risked failing. It didn't matter who had sent Sam his so-called prophetic dream or not, logic alone told him that they shouldn't be playing with fire.

_But what _is _the Darkness?_ He had a clue. Ignore the part about her being God's sister, a history they weren't privy to, and there existed references to whatever had gone down in the early days. _More like 'In the beginning.'_ Darkness existed before Light. Light got rid of her. Created. Earth was allowed to exist because the Darkness was kept at bay. It wasn't exactly a theme Sam hadn't encountered before.

It stood to reason that releasing the Darkness would cause irreparable damage, either because her very existence would clash with everything or because she would be horrendously pissed off, potentially taking out her frustration on the entire planet. _Not like vengeance runs in the family or anything._

He'd been told to stop it. _Stop what? Gabriel from messing with the Mark, or what the Mark is holding back?_ His fist clenched as Gabriel walked towards Dean again. Words danced on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't get them to come out. His mind was whirling half-a-mile a minute, contradicting itself, and the end result was hopeless silence.

Gabriel knelt down before Dean and placed his hand on the back of Dean's chair, again.

"Round two," he started. "Sorry, Dean, but this one's going to be worse. Have to tip-toe a lot quieter than I did last time, and that means prolonged exposure to _me_. Maybe your soul will be merciful and knock you out before the going gets tough."

Dean glared at him.

Gabriel, too, offered him an apologetic smile and then beseeched Castiel from over his shoulder, "Do me a favor: If things start to get a bit hairy, keep me anchored. Don't care how. Just think of this as an extreme game of Operation where, if my hand touches the metal, we all die instead of an annoying buzzer sounding."

Dean cringed.

"Gabriel," Sam scolded.

"I'll try," Cas replied.

"Mm, try _hard_." Gabriel refaced Dean. "On the count of three."

Without so much as a one, Gabriel's hand plunged inside Dean's abdomen. Again, Dean's screams tore through the room. Again, Sam had to fight the urge to remove Gabriel, to make them stop. When the Mark began to glow its eerie red, Sam watched it, curious to see if he could observe whatever changes Gabriel was making to it, if strengthening it would add another brand to Dean's arm.

Black swam across Dean's soul, as quick and elusive as a fish darting beneath the surface of a pond. Sam inhaled sharply when he saw it. He waited, afraid Gabriel would be thrown aside, but that didn't happen. Instead, the black zipping along in the light began to slow. It converged around Gabriel's arm, increasing in size, until it threatened to overtake the light in Dean's soul.

Dean struggled against his bonds. Head tilted back, throat straining with pain, he tried to gain control of himself. Unchecked screams were coming less frequent, reduced to whimpers and shuddering groans. However, he was hyperventilating, keeping himself from getting enough air.

"Dean, breathe," Sam warned.

Either Dean didn't hear him, or the pain grew to be too much, because it wasn't long before Dean's body gave out.

Sam would've considered his brother falling unconscious a good thing if Gabriel hadn't tensed. Black tendrils began to leak out of Dean and into Gabriel's arm. They traced up his blood vessels, looking all the world like burnt tree branches.

In response to the intrusion, Gabriel began to unleash some of his own power. It started with static, then grew into sound and light. Pale yellow grace shown through Gabriel's eyes. Still, the Darkness persisted, barely even slowing as it disappeared beneath Gabriel's rolled-up sleeve.

Cas moved then, lunging forward to place his hand on Gabriel's shoulder. He poured his grace into Gabriel, no doubt trying to add more light to fight off the Darkness.

Sam's stomach dropped. _Cas isn't even strong enough to do most angel things. How is he going to help power up an Archangel?_ Pain twinged through Sam's head, causing him to flinch. Steadily, it grew. Then came the ringing. _No, not again._ He squinted against it, trying to keep his attention on Gabriel, staring at Gabriel's neck and dreading the moment the black spread to it.

Gabriel and Cas' combined light was near blinding when Sam noticed the small bit of movement near the Mark. Runes began to appear in a circle around it. Norse runes that pushed their way into Dean's skin, as much of a brand as the Mark, or Castiel's handprint from years ago. First one, then another across from it, a third a little ways to the right of that one, with seemingly no rhyme or reason to their placement. All that mattered was that they be there.

Cas fell. He caught himself with his knee, but his whole body slumped lethargically against Gabriel, hand sliding from Gabriel's shoulder to the middle of his back. His light was dimming.

"Cas!" Sam shouted over the sound assaulting his mind, the sound of exploding glass muffled by it, his hands raised over his ears. _He'll die. He's using too much energy. He'll die!_

Sam gasped in fright and stumbled back into the desk behind him as a single sliver of black smoke slipped out of Dean's soul and passed Gabriel's arm. The horror of something like _that _being inside Dean was quickly overshadowed by the terror that came with realizing the Darkness' intent, as the smoke coalesced and pulled back, ready to strike the angels trying to stop it.

On instinct, Sam's hand shot forward. The Darkness' form shuddered and separated slightly, twisting violently in place but not being allowed to move further towards it goal. _Get back, get back, get back, _Sam commanded. _You won't hurt them. I won't let you._

The pain pounding in his head and behind his eyes was nothing, he'd dealt with it before, and so he pushed through it, just as he pushed against the Darkness. Inch by inch it was forced back, back into Dean where it didn't belong but where it would hopefully be sealed forever.

"_It won't stay gone forever," _a voice that sounded suspiciously like his own stated. "_You heard Gabriel. Humans aren't strong enough to keep the Darkness at bay. Stands to reason their magic won't last, either. You're wasting your time. Stop this. Just let it end."_

"Shut up," Sam hissed, doubling his efforts. His vision started to go as he felt something wet drip from his nose and his ears. The pain was getting worse.

"_You're straining yourself. You'll die, painfully, just like Castiel. But if you let go, it'll be quick. Everything will be over in an instant. You'll finally know peace. Let go, Sam."_

He was going to pass out. He could already feel the strength leaving his legs. His head spun. But he wasn't going down. Not yet. Not with the Darkness nearly gone, drowned in Dean's light, and Gabriel's, and Cas'.

"_No. No, no!"_

The last bit of smoke disappeared. Sam wasn't sure if the scream he heard was his own or the Darkness'. His legs buckled. He barely felt his head crack against the desk on his way down. The image burned into his eyes was that of a tree wrapped in roses.

* * *

"Sam. Sam!" A voice called to him, faint.

His senses were slow to kick in. Something heavy and warm was lying on his chest. He was pretty sure the hard surface under him was the floor. A hand held his shoulder. It shook him roughly, his body pinned under the weight on top of him.

Sam groaned and tried to bat at the arm the hand belonged to, only to experience brief resistance as his own hand dragged against what he was beginning to think was a body on top of his own. His forearm limply hit another's as he slurred, "Tree. Roses."

Silence met his failed attempt at communication before the confused, worried voice demanded, "_What?_"

"Dean?" Sam mirrored.

He finally opened his eyes. It took a second for them to focus, but they soon enough found Dean's concerned face hovering nearby. Concerned, and a bit weirded out.

The elation at seeing Dean alive, with no black eyes and able to move about, was quickly put to the side as his brain kicked into high gear. _How'd he get out of the chair?_ The question made him look to said chair.

The leather straps weren't gone, hadn't been snapped away, but they'd clearly been undone. Cas was crumpled on the floor beside it. Sam jerked and tried to sit up, to see if Cas was all right, but the body on top of his shifted. Startled, his arms wrapped around- _Gabriel. Of course, it's Gabriel. But-_

"What happened?" He asked Dean as he looked up from the worryingly unconscious Archangel.

Dean pulled back, slowly, no doubt assessing if Sam was okay, before he shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me. One minute, I'm out. Next minute, y'all are out. And I'm untied. So, I'm assuming one of these guys," he pointed back and forth between Cas and Gabriel, "did that. Also? Broken glass _everywhere._ Windows are busted out, too. Probably not a good thing for the protective warding."

Sam took a quick look around the room to confirm Dean's claims. Not that he thought he was lying, Sam remembered the sound of breaking glass as the angels had increased their power, but seeing the sorry state Dean's hotel room was in was something else.

Every bulb in every lamp seemed to have shattered, including the ceiling light. The pictures that had already fallen from Gabriel's impact with the wall were further damaged, glass splintered to look like chaotic streaks of lightning. Most of the window was missing, some of its glass on the floor, the rest probably on the sidewalk, and its curtains and blinds were a mess. He could imagine what the mirror and shower stall in the bathroom looked like.

The damage to the hotel room didn't bother him near as much as the implications. Last time such destruction had happened, Gabriel had fixed it with a snap. It saved them from nosey neighbors, or worse. He hadn't done so this time. In fact, he'd passed out half on top of Sam, legs spread out towards Cas. _He probably hadn't had the juice._ Speaking of, Sam turned to Dean.

"Did you check on Cas?"

"Yeah, he's comatose."

"But his pulse was good and everything?"

Dean frowned, suddenly unsure. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Sam sighed, his eyes falling to an indescript spot on the floor. "Because if he'd had to keep the Darkness back any longer, it might've killed him."

Dean's face hardened. "What?" He growled.

"Look, I'll explain everything," Sam began. "But can we get Cas and Gabe off the floor for now? I'm sure it's really comfortable. _Really _sure, considering I'm also still lying on it."

The intense look didn't leave Dean's eyes, but he nodded in assent and stood up. The frown of his lips told Sam all he needed to know.

Dean hadn't realized the danger Cas was in. He'd probably thought he was just as tired as Gabriel and that they were both taking a nice, angel nap. But hearing something far more sinister might be afflicting Cas bothered Dean. _He's been in denial this whole time_. That was often Dean's go-to for heavy things, such as Cas' Grace giving out. Burning out. Burning him out. To be confronted with the idea that he might've accidentally led Cas to killing himself in an effort to save him wracked Dean with guilt. Guilt that he hid under anger.

While he tried to gently maneuver out from under Gabriel without stirring him, Sam watched Dean out of the corner of his eye. He noticed Dean took extra care when it came to handling Cas, none of the rough shoulder-shaking treatment he'd given Sam moments before. He also noticed the stealthy thumb press Dean quickly gave Cas' throat under the guise of keeping Cas' head steady when he moved him into a sitting position.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, situated his hold on Gabriel, and lifted him from the floor in a cradle carry.

"Sitting him up isn't going to get him off the floor, Dean," Sam prodded, a slight mocking tone to his voice. Though he still worried for Cas, Cas _did _appear to be merely passed out, not at all the sweating, sallow mess he knew angels with damaged Grace to be. He felt Cas would forgive him if he cracked a small joke at Dean's expense. Especially if said joke got Dean out of his impeding guilt-fueled funk before it happened.

"Oh, well, sorry I don't frequent the gym as often as you and eat nothing but rabbit food and protein shakes," Dean sassed. He gave Sam an annoyed look while Sam walked Gabriel over to the bed. "I can't quite lift Cas into the heavens as easily as you can Gabriel." He risked removing a hand from Cas' shoulders to raise a finger at Sam. "In fact, why don't _you_ lift Cas while you're at it, Hercules. This old man might throw his back out on accident."

Sam smirked, pleased with himself. The neverending jokes regarding his preferrably healthy diet were no less annoying, but getting Dean sidetracked from his own emotional baggage was a battle Sam liked to win. He gently placed Gabriel on Dean's bed, careful to make him comfortable, and took a good, long look at his face.

Like Cas, Gabriel seemed fine. He looked no worse for wear than any other time Sam had woken up beside him. Black streaks no longer marred the exposed flesh on his left arm.

They'd managed to push the Darkness back entirely. Somehow. _Not sure how they came away unscathed, but I'm not complaining._

Sam frowned after he remembered the last thing he saw and felt before falling out.

"What?" Dean asked, still crouched with Cas.

Sam looked over to him and shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing." He walked over to Dean and Cas. "Just… I'm pretty sure I remember my head smacking against the desk on my way down only...it doesn't hurt. Pretty sure there's not even a bump." He left out the potential bleeding from his nose and ears for later.

When Sam scooted Dean over and bent down to get his arms around and under Cas, Dean popped him in the back of the head. Sam flinched more at the surprise of the slap than the impact. He frowned at Dean.

"That hurt?" Dean asked.

"No."

"Yeah, you're fine."

Sam smiled irritably at him and then lifted Cas.

The thick trench coat Cas always wore and the two layers of shirts under that didn't help Sam gauge his body temperature, but, thankfully, his slacks proved thin enough for Sam to get a small idea of what it was. As far as he could tell, the answer was normal. _Good. Not boiling alive in his own skin like Gabriel used to. Maybe we'll get a happy ending after all. Wishful thinking._

He walked over to the right side of the bed, paused, and noticed the small problem of some stray shards of glass sprinkled over the covers. "Um. Mind getting that?" Sam nodded with his head toward the problem.

Dean looked, noticed the glass, and jumped into action. Sam watched him, amused, as he nearly used his bare hands to sweep off the offending debris, only to realize what would happen if he did so. He paused, looked around, grabbed Gabriel's jacket from the nearby chair, and used that instead. Sam was sure Gabriel would love to find that out after he woke up.

After scrutinizing the sheets for any pieces he may have missed, Dean finally backed away, motioning for Sam to continue. Sam placed Cas beside Gabriel and gave him the same treatment, situating him in such a way that he would be comfortable and _not_ look like he'd just been at death's door. When he stepped back, he caught Dean's not-so-hidden nervous glance at Cas.

"He's fine, Dean," Sam said with confidence. "He looks normal, he feels normal, he's just...sleeping."

Dean didn't look convinced. "What if he's human now?" He asked. "I mean, you still haven't told me what the hell happened, but what if he used too much of his Grace up and he Fell? Again?"

The thought hadn't occurred to Sam, not that he'd really been conscious long enough to think of everything, but he wound up dismissing it with a shrug. "Then, he's human. But he's not dead. Which is a better outcome than we're used to getting."

Dean was still uneasy, eyes unwilling to leave Cas, but he seemed like he was going to drop the conversation. His features softened as he turned to face Sam. He opened his mouth to say something but was quickly distracted by the window behind Sam. Dean jumped and gave a small cry of surprise.

Sam frowned at him and looked over his shoulder to see what the deal was, and then he jumped.

The window had been fixed. The glass was back, the blinds not a mangled mess. Sam's brow furrowed as he quickly looked to the angels, confirmed they were both out like a light, and then back to the window. Disturbed, he then did a check of the rest of what he knew to be broken in the room. Those objects, however, remained destroyed.

"Uh," he said.

Dean pointed at the window. "Did you do that?"

Sam made a face. "No."

"Okay, then who did? Because that's creepy."

"Your guess is as good as mine."

They both jumped as a phone began to ring. Sam knew it wasn't his from the generic ringtone, and the confused look on Dean's face made him think it wasn't Dean's. Since Sam was ninety percent sure Gabriel didn't have a cellphone, his attention fell to Cas. Seeing his line of sight, Dean moved. He began riffling through Cas' coat pockets.

"Dean!" Sam scolded.

"What? He can't answer it."

Sam was about to mention that that didn't matter, it was rude to answer other people's phones without their permission and Dean knew it, but Dean had already found Cas' phone. He took one look at the caller I.D., frowned, pressed the talk button, and hit speaker.

"Hello?" Dean asked.

Sam was beyond relieved that his brother hadn't decided to say something stupid and crank-call worthy. The last thing he wanted was for whoever was on the other line to think they had the wrong number. Or worse, that something bad had happened to Cas and take drastic measures. _Not that something bad _hasn't _happened to Cas, but they might not need to know that._

"Who is this?" A woman's voice questioned, suspicion and edge clear in her tone.

"Depends. Who's askin'?"

Sam widened his eyes at Dean, silently trying to tell him to stop being a suspicious asshole. Dean wasn't too worried.

The next question from the woman came with more venom. "Where is Castiel?"

"Lemme try that again," Dean replied, still being a dick. "_What's _askin'?"

Silence answered them. Sam stared uncertainly at his brother, until the voice finally stated, "You must be Dean Winchester. I've heard about you."

"I'm sure nothing but good things."

"Castiel certainly has a soft spot for you and your brother. Frankly, I fail to see the reason."

"Ouch."

Sam steamrolled his way into the conversation out of fear that it would continue to devolve. "Ignore him. Who're you? We're with Cas. He's just...unconscious at the moment."

"Why?" She bit.

"He used too much Grace. He's recharging, or whatever you angels call it." Sam paused. "You _are _an angel, right?"

"Yes," came the clipped answer. "My name is Hannah. I came with Castiel to your hotel."

"He didn't mention you," Dean stated with a frown.

"He probably felt no need. He hadn't planned to stay long, or so he told me. Hours ago."

"You've been waiting this whole time?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"Those were my orders."

"Where _are_ you?"

"Look out the window."

Sam and Dean looked to each other before they stepped the few feet to the window. Dean pulled the drawstring to raise the blinds. They both looked down at the street and sidewalk below. The laser focus that a brunette with curly hair, who was currently using a cellphone, had on their window was borderline terrifying. Even from a few floors up, Sam could tell she was smoldering, he was just unsure as to why.

Both he and Dean quickly got out of her line of sight.

"_O-kay_," Dean drawled. "Can you not do that? Because that's horror movie levels of freaky right there. Have you _seriously _been standing there this whole fuckin' time?"

"No. I was in the lobby, until I heard glass shattering and people screaming on the streets." Sam grimaced at Hannah's explanation. "When I went to investigate, imagine my surprise when I saw angelic light streaming out of the room you're now in. I apologize. I would've fixed the window a lot faster had I not needed to erase the memories of a few pedestrians."

Hannah, surprisingly, was capable of sarcasm.

"You guys do that? Memory alteration? Like, regularly?" Sam questioned, both curious and disturbed.

"When Castiel's safety is at risk and we know a spy is in our midst? Yes."

Her blunt answer reminded Sam of the situation they were in. It wasn't just the angels fighting against Metatron, after all, it was him, Dean, and Gabriel, too. And with the weird nature of the prophetic dream he'd had the night before, the giver of said dream still unknown… _Yeah, makes sense that we should be covering our tracks a lot better than we have been. Do what you gotta do. Guess Hannah's got us there._

"Right." Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, _Hannah_, Cas is fine. Like Sam said, he's sleeping like a baby. Better than a baby, even. So, we're going to hang up now, and you go...do whatever the hell it was you were doing before you were creepily staring in our window. Seriously, stop that. It'll weird out more pedestrians. Sure fire way to draw attention to us."

A beat passed before Hannah said, "I expect him to remain safe in your care, Winchesters. If you've done something to hurt him, I'll see you punished for it."

The next few seconds of silence were the result of the line having gone dead while both Sam and Dean were too stunned by the threat given to them to realize. After Dean finally did look down at the phone and noticed the now-black screen, he hastily put it back in Cas' pocket. His demeanor made Sam think he wasn't going to go fishing for it again anytime soon. Thankfully.

"What is it with angels and threatening to killing us over Cas?" Dean griped.

"Guess it's a good thing they like him so much now?" Sam half-asked.

"Not if it means they wanna kill us."

Sam's brows twitched in acknowledgment.

He watched Dean's face as his brother fiddled with Cas' coat, trying to make it seem like he hadn't gone snooping through its pockets. His eyes then fell to the Mark on Dean's arm. It was still there, still red as if it'd been recently branded into his arm, instead of having spent months resting there. Gabriel's runes now stood out around it, thinner but appearing no less inflamed. _Dean's gonna have to start wearing long sleeves more often. _But that wasn't what really worried Sam.

"You okay?" He asked.

Dean scoffed and stood up straight. "_Frankly?_" he mocked Hannah. "Awesome. I feel _grand._ Which, considering the state of these two, is about as creepy as Cas' guard dog. And you're _still _going to tell me what the hell happened."

Sam nodded.

Then, Dean's brow furrowed. He pointed at Gabriel and Castiel. "Now that I think about it: How long are they gonna be out?"

Sam shrugged."You keep asking me questions I don't know the answers to, Dean."

Dean sighed, frustrated. "But they're on my bed," he complained.

"Guess you'll just have to sleep on the floor, then."

Dean gave him a scathing look in response. Sam couldn't help but smirk at it. _Yeah, you're fine._ Sam just prayed Dean stayed that way. He didn't know what they would do if Gabriel's runes couldn't hold. He feared that Cas wouldn't have enough juice to survive a second attempt at sealing the Darkness. He doubted the strange song that had sounded in his head, split his mind wide open, would help again.

But those fears were based on maybes. Here, now, Dean was fine. Cas was fine. Gabe was fine. That's all that mattered. That's all Sam told himself mattered. To hell with Metatron, Gadreel, and whoever else. He deserved his two minutes of peace. They all did.


End file.
